New adventures of "Alice"John Rae, Lewis Carroll


KF11099


LINU


7.V. trinjatan


3

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BOOKSHOP
* Boys & Girls
WOMEN'S EDUCATIONAL INDUSTRIAL UNION
264 BOYLSTON STREET, BOSTON.





NEW ADVENTURES
of
"ALICE”









visinin
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2Y
ata
Hintai
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Marami
we ren Aamuwch
JR
"As the dancers circled round and round"
(page 156)


3.0
.
05
JR
NEW ADVENTURES
of
“ALICE”
Written and Pictured
by
John Rae
Published by
P. F. VOLLAND COMPANY
CHICAGO


KF 11099
HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
Copyright, 1917
P. F. VOLLAND COMPANY
CHICAGO


JR,
.ROB ABLYyou, like my self,have often wished that Lewis Carroll might
have found time to write another book about "Alice." Certainly
most of the children who have delightedly followed her through
"Wonderland" and the "Looking Glass" country have sighed regret-
fully when Mother finished reading the last chapter to them.
After reading the marvelous tale for perhaps the tenth time when I was a
little boy, I started trying to imagine what Lewis Carroll would have written
had he continued the "Adventures," and it has been great fun for me to go on
with these imaginings from time to time and finally to write them down.
The children "with dreaming eyes of wonder" to whom I have related some
of these "New Adventures" have frankly enjoyed them and their accompanying
nonsense verses, and have helped with many stimulating questions and sugges-
tions. This leads me to hope that even Lewis Carroll, himself, might have en-
joyed some of these added "doings" of his adventurous "Alice."
And so I make no excuse or apology for what to some may at first seem my
shocking assurance, and if any of my love for the dear old dog-eared volume of
"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and "Through the Looking Glass" has
crept—as I meant it should—between the lines of this humble supplement, that
is excuse enough for its being. It is offered as a loving gift from thankful
children to the sweet spirit of the immortal Lewis Carroll who has always seemed
to me a dear, indulgent, story-telling Uncle to all children.
Caldwell, N. J.

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. . . Found in the Attic. ..... 9
CHAPTER II . . To Bunberry Cross, or Along
Came a Snipe . ......
CHAPTER III . . The Peevish Printer .....
CHAPTER IV . . Fire!! ..........
CHAPTER V . . Self-Steering Pens ....
CHAPTER VI . . It's a Dangerous Place . ...
CHAPTER VII. The “Summersault Sally". ..
CHAPTER VIII . Buttermilk Channel .....
CHAPTER IX . . Tub and Tunnel .......
CHAPTER X . . Iceberg ...........
CHAPTER XI . . The Skating Party . ..... 111
CHAPTER XII. Strange Growths and a Stupid
Snail . . . . . . . · · · · 121
CHAPTER XIII . King Cole's Court ...... 129
CHAPTER XIV . The Rehearsal of “The En-
chanted Cheese"...... 141
CHAPTER XV . In the Studio and ..... 147





CHAPTER I
Found in the Attic





New Adventures of "Alice"

CHAPTER I
Found in the Attic
UT the provoking Kitten only began on the other paw,
and pretended it hadn't heard the question. Which
do you think it was?"
Mother closed the book and Sister Betsy and
Brother Billy both
sighed.
"Oh dear, I wish
there were more of it,"
said Betsy, "Isn't there
another book about
Alice, Mother?"
It was the fifth or sixth time that
Mother had read "Alice's Adventures
in Wonderland" and "Through the
Looking Glass" to them out of the
fat red book, and every time they had
reached the end, Betsy had asked this
same question.
"I'm just as sorry as you are,
Dears, that there isn't," said Mother.
"But even if there were we couldn't
read any more tonight. It's your bed
time!"
And sure enough, the old fashion-
ed hall clock had begun to buzz and
grind and click as it always did before

[111


FOUND IN THE ATTIC
striking the hour. "As though it were chuckling wickedly to itself,"
Betsy thought.
Betsy must have been thinking of "Alice" and making up for
herself more Adventures and wishing there were another book all
the time she was getting undressed and brushing her nice little
white teeth, for when she said her prayers she added, "And please
send me another book about Alice."
She had hardly got comfortably snuggled and settled into the
pillow and kissed Mother and called "Good night" to Dick, the
canary (who answered with a sleepy little thrill), when she found
herself up in the attic looking for things "to dress up in."
The bed clothes seemed to have turned into dusty old dresses

112


FOUND IN THE ATTIC
NEW
ADVENTURES
ALICE
ihin!
N
and coats which she was pulling over, looking for a little dress her
Mother had worn when Mother herself was only eight years old.
She knew it was somewhere in the pile of things in the attic, and
would be just what she wanted to dress the part of "Alice,” in a
little play which she and Brother and some of the other children
were going to give, perhaps, the next Saturday afternoon.
Somehow or other the dresses and coats as she handled them
became smaller and stiffer and smaller still and flat, and pretty
soon she realized that they
weren't dresses and coats at
all, but a pile of neat little
books, none of which Betsy
had ever seen before and
which seemed to come in a
sort of set. They were
called "Wish There Were
More” books or the “Sequel
Series"_"Oh, if I only had
them all on my shelves.”
“Now," said Betsy to
herself, "P'raps I'll find
another Alice book;” and
she took them up one by
one with eager hands.
There was “More Rob-
inson Crusoe!” “More
Arabian Nights!” “More
Grimm's Fairy Tales!”
“More Wonder Clock
Stories!" and oh, dreams
come true! there was the
book she had longed for:-
“More Adventures of Alice!”

WAN
adi
W
atch
i
TRAIN
"More Adventures of Alice!" Summi
TRANSIT
(13)


FOUND IN THE ATTIC
She turned the pages with trembling fingers, afraid that she
might find that it was a cruel joke: but no! There were exactly the
same kind of stiff little pictures of Alice that she had loved in the
battered old red book, from which Mother had just been reading.
Alice doing this, or Alice doing that, and usually surrounded by
strangely dressed people or creatures.
With a sigh of complete contentment, she settled herself com-
fortably and cosily on a moth-eaten old buffalo robe in a corner
nearest the half-moon attic window and started to read. In her
dream she seemed to change and become dear, quaint little Alice
herself, and be living and acting in the story, instead of simply
reading it.
What follows is what she read, and the pictures that follow
are those she looked at in that "Wish There Were More" book. For
Betsy has often and often told me all about that wonderful dream
of hers.
1141


CHAPTER II
(Really Chapter 1 of the book Betsy found in the attic, in her dream)
To Bunberry Cross, or Along
Came a Snipe


c--




CHAPTER II
(Really Chapter I of the book Betsy found in the attic, in her dream)
To BUNBERRY Cross, or Along Came A SNIPE
It was a sleepy, spring-time Sunday afternoon.
Alice was lying on the grass near the garden-house reading
Mother Goose Rhymes to her kittens who were tumbling about
near her in the slanting yellow sunshine. (She often pretended
the kittens were small children.) Just now she was reading “Ding
Dong Bell, Pussy's in the Well.”
“I'm sure you'll like this one and it may prove a warning to
you,” she said.
Her sister was sitting on the garden-house step making a pretty
little sketch of a blossoming hawthorne tree which stood in the
corner of the hedge at the foot
of the garden.
Over the hedge they could
see the church spire across the
river. Somewhere far off
a bell was ringing. Its
sweetly sleepy sound
mingled with the scent
of blossoms and the

river. Somewhere far off
lice
.
.
U
Ži
intellett well
(17)


TO BUNBERRY CROSS, OR ALONG CAME A SNIPE
droning of Alice's voice very
harmoniously.
She had just come to
the line "What a naughty
boy was that"—when she
noticed a bird with a straw
in its beak alighting on
the hedge nearby. Alice
stopped reading to watch
him for she always liked to
find out where nests were
being built. The bird was
a very sprightly little fellow,
cocking his head from side
to side and looking directly
at Alice with remarkably
intelligent bright eyes.
"Why," thought Alice,
"he looks as if he were
actually going to speak!"
And sure enough, he did!
"Wonderful view from here," said the bird casually in a rather
muffled voice. Alice now saw it was a Snipe, much larger than
she had at first supposed, and that instead of a straw he held in his
beak a long clay pipe from which a thin wisp of bluish smoke was
curling, and which probably caused the indistinct mumbling voice.
The hedge, too, seemed to be changing strangely, it was growing
higher and higher, and soon she saw it was a hedge no longer, but a
grove of tall oaks, and the muffled voice of the Snipe now sounded
very far away indeed.
"I've something important to ask you. Do you—" she thought she
heard him say and then she could not catch any more. Though he was
still to be seen on one of the topmost branches of the tree nearest her.

[181



"Little bird faces appeared at open, curtained
windows" (page 19)


-
-
-


$ TO BUNBERRY CROSS, OR ALONG CAME A SNIPE?
Now Alice was a very polite little girl, and it seemed to her that
the only right thing for her to do was to climb the tree and find out
what it was that the Snipe wished to know. So she was very pleased
to see a narrow spiral stairway, which she had certainly not noticed
before, winding up around the trunk. She placed her foot upon
the lowest step and grasped the rail, and was greatly surprised to
find that the railing seemed to be moving spirally upward; pulling
her along, at first slowly and gently but getting faster and faster,
so that by the time she was half way up the tree her feet were no
longer touching the steps at all. Somehow though, the sensation
was rather pleasant and she felt no alarm. She even kept calm
enough to notice that, as the trunk apparently slid down past her,
little bird faces appeared at open, curtained windows here and
there, and one old-lady black-bird in a blue sunbonnet called out
as Alice shot past — "Hoity, toity, my dear child, there's really
no such hurry, you know."
Faster and faster she went, so that when the tree-top was reached
she could not seem to stop, but went right on up into the air quite
a ways and then gently floated down (her skirt spreading out like a
parachute and supporting her) and finally alighted on the topmost
branch, right beside the Snipe.
Talking to the Snipe was a curious little fellow with a big, round,
shiny face and very slender little legs and arms. In one hand he
carried a covered basket and in the other a big blue handkerchief,
decorated with little white stars. In his belt was a great cheese
knife. His round face was shining with perspiration and from time
to time he mopped it with the blue handkerchief.
"He looks as though he had come a long way," thought Alice.
As she settled herself on the swaying branch and smoothed out
her skirt, the Snipe was saying thoughtfully, puffing hard on his pipe,
"Norrich, Norrich?—Now—let—me—see—I should know, and that's
a fact—Perhaps she can tell you!" he exclaimed, brightening.
The Man in the Moon (for of course Alice knew now that it
(19)


TO BUNBERRY CROSS, OR ALONG CAME A SNIPE
made of green cheese and,” pointing to the Man in the Moon,
"he peddles it. Give her a sample.”
“Certingly, Miss, to be sure,” beamed the Man in the Moon,
“and no obligation to buy neither, Miss.”
He opened his basket and taking his knife from his belt cut off
a thin slice of the most beautiful and curious cheese that Alice had
ever seen. It was soft and glowed with a greenish-silver light,
and when she bit into it! "It was like eating marshmallows dipped
in moonlight,” she said afterwards.
Alice was just about to take a second bite when she remembered
that the Moon Man's courteous question had not been answered,
and she started to direct him as well as she could; but somehow her
geography lessons and some directions she had heard the gardener
give a wagon driver the day before became hopelessly mixed in
her mind and she found herself saying, “Norrich is a town of seven
thousand inhabitants in the north eastern part of Norfolk on the
river Yare. You take the road to the right as far as Earle's Bridge
and follow the river to the old Exton Mill-settled in the year
thirteen hundred and forty-turn to the left and the principal
exports are—” She stopped, realizing how absurdly she was talking
and intending to say, “No, that's not at all what I meant."
But the jolly little man had already started. He was not
Aying, but stepping briskly along "on nothing at all,” swinging his
basket, and Alice could just hear him anxiously repeating part of
her ridiculous directions—“to old Exton Mill, settled in thirteen
hundred and forty-"
She called after him, but he evidently did not hear for he kept
straight ahead and soon disappeared behind a great flock of black-birds.
The Snipe shook his head sadly and blew tremendous puffs of
whirling smoke from his pipe in silence for a while, but finally he
sighed—“Poor fellow! Poor fellow, but I dare say he'll happen
on the finger-post and then he can get to Babylon anyhow; that is,
of course, if he has a candle about him.”
[21]


* TO BUNBERRY CROSS, CR ALONG CAME A SNIPE -
gait, the old lady in her familiar spotted dress and strange bonnet
jouncing up and down on his back and in a cloud of dust.
Alice could just catch the faint jingling of the "bells on her toes."
"This must be the road to Banbury Cross, then," said Alice, half
aloud.
"Bunberry Cross," corrected the Snipe, kindly. "No fault of
yours, my child, the Printer ran out of U's, that's all. You see it's
where they make the hot cross berry-buns. You'd never say, 'hot
cross bans' No, certainly not! In the first place it would never
rhyme with sons, and in the second pla— but no matter. What do
you think of the view?"

And pointing to the artist with his pipe, "He drew it all—all
the houses and trees and the hills just as he had to draw all of us,
birds and animals and people."
Now Alice knew why it was that the landscape looked "strangely
familiar;" it, too, was like the pictures in her Mother Goose! But
also quite a little like Wonderland and the strange Looking Glass
country that she had once dreamt about.
"Isn't it hilly?" Alice began; "and what's that"

[231


TO BUNBERRY CROSS, OR ALONG CAME A SNIPE
“Of course! It has to be hilly,” interrupted the Snipe, impa-
tiently. “There's got to be Jack and Jill's Hill and Blackbird's Hill
and the Hill the Old Woman lived under and Pippin Hill and all the
rest of the Hills.”
Now, ever since Alice had reached the tree-top, a far-away bell
had been ringing, just as one had rung before she left the garden
and her Sister and the Kittens. (And Dear, Dear! how long ago
that did seem.) Alice wondered idly what the bell could be.
“It's the bellman over at Bunberry Cross, I'm pretty sure,"
said the Snipe, who always seemed good at guessing just what one
was going to say. “Probably somebody's stolen something or other
and the King has offered a reward for the capture of the thief.
There're lots of thieves among 'em, Tom, the Piper's Son, who stole
the pig, and dozens more. Why, even one of their Kings, years ago,
stole some barley meal for a bag pudding!”
"What a bad example,” exclaimed Alice.
"Let's go and see what the row's about,” suggested the Snipe.
“I've got to return this pipe anyway. Of course that pipe business
was just a practical joke. I hope you didn't think I was a thief.”
He looked anxiously at Alice, then added more brightly, “Bombay's
the next village beyond and the Old Man's a great friend of King
Cole's-in fact, he's Prime Minister.
“Let's start-Ever fly?”
Before Alice realized what was happening, the Snipe had given
her a gentle push and she found herself awkwardly foundering about
in the air, not exactly frightened but a bit cross that the Snipe
should have given her no warning.
"Well, I don't think that was very nice and I did so want to see
what the artist was going to draw next,” said she.
"It's the only way to ever learn to fly or swim,” said the Snipe,
amiably but decidedly; "try it more this way,—that's bette
And then as if to put her in a better humor he began to sing—as
well as possible with the pipe still in his mouth-
as
d
[24]


TO BUNBERRY CROSS, OR ALONG CAME A SNIPE
lliure
whis
“Why how, let me ask you, my
dear, do you s'pose
I learned to smoke pipes, and
to eat with my nose?
There's one thing, however,
that cannot be done
With all of your trying, that's
this-
Have a bun.”
The strangest thing had hap-
pened! They were “bumping into a
flock of buns” as the Snipe expressed
it. The air was full of hot cross buns
which seemed to be floating up from
an open window of a house on the
outskirts of the village far below
them.
"That's the baker's shop and
there's the butcher's and there's the candlestick maker's,” said the
Snipe.
Alice saw that they were now right over a little village. She
had been too busy listening to the Snipe to realize how fast they had
approached it.
"Drop 'em a penny, drop 'em a penny!” called the Snipe, and
then in his effort to snatch one of the floating buns with his beak
lost the pipe which fell through the air, leaving behind it a trail of
blue smoke.
“Now I'm in a pretty pickle and no mistake,” he mumbled in a
scared voice. “I didn't mean to keep the old pipe, it was just a
joke”
“But here we are!" cried Alice between bites—she had caught
two of the buns which were still very warm and wonderfully light.
“Perhaps that's why they float away,” she thought.

[26]


TO BUNBERRY CROSS, OR ALONG CAME A SNIPE
et
II
"Yes, here we are!"
And, sure enough, they were hovering directly over the village
green where a may pole stood decked out with streamers and flowers
ready for the dance. It was just like one Alice had seen a few days
before on their village green at home.
Then she saw that the bell, whose ding donging had been
growing louder and louder as they had approached the village, was
being rung by the Bellman or “Town Crier” who stopped his ringing
now and then to bawl out:
“Has anyone seen Master Thomas B. Green?
Be he dead or alive, the reward is two 'n five!”
“Let's stop here,” said Alice, clutching at the may pole to stop
her fight. (You see she had never practiced alighting gracefully.)
She swung 'round and round and 'round and 'round. Petals from
the blossom wreaths were shaken off and floated down all about her.
When she softly struck the ground after her long spiral descent no
one seemed to have noticed her, for the Bellman was the center of
attraction. All the strange townsfolk and animals were crowding
about him listening to his bawling, or talking together in excited
groups.
When she looked about her for the Snipe he was nowhere to
be seen, but finally she spied him perched on the very top of the
may pole. He seemed agitated and was whispering something
hoarsely to her, but she could only make out the words—“Don't
dare to come down” and “They'll put me in jail” and “I'll see you
some time again”—Then he flapped heavily away and Alice sud-
denly felt very lonesome and just a little "scared.”
SO
1271



i


CHAPTER III
The Peevish Printer


火
​


CHAPTER III
The Peevish PRINTER
"It makes me sick! Absolutely sick!” exclaimed a small
peevish voice at Alice's elbow. “They ought to have let me print
'em some neat hand bills to stick up at every corner instead of having
all this hubbub.”
Turning, Alice saw a little spectacled man almost bald, with a
very inky apron and the dirtiest hands she had ever seen. She
simply couldn't help looking at them a little disapprovingly, as her
Mother looked at hers sometimes.
He did not seem to notice her reproving glance, however, but
continued to exclaim, "It makes me sick!" more bitterly than before,
now putting his hands over his ears as if to shut out the din made
by the Town Crier's bawling and the noisy bell. Of couse when
he did this his ears and cheeks became almost as dirty as his hands,
and Alice found herself saying, "Now just look at your face!”
“Don't be ridiculous," said the little man. “How can I look at
my face? That's for you to do! There are no mirrors in this town
anyhow, even if I wanted to look at my face, which I don't. You
see King Cole-but that's a long story, perhaps I have it with me.
"I'm a Printer, as you may have guessed; that is, I'm a Printer
most of the time. Fair time I sell pies—have to make a living some-
how, you know.”
"Oh, then you're the Pieman!” exclaimed Alice.
“Yes—but Pastry Purveyor would have sounded much better,
don't you think so? Looked well in print, too."
He had been fumbling in his pocket and now fished out a folded
sheet of very soiled paper which he carefully spread out on the
grass.
"This isn't it, I'm afraid,” he murmured, “but it will do pretty
well.”
It was the strangest page of print Alice had ever seen. She
(31)


THE PEEVISH PRINTER
could make nothing of it except the title at the top which was
PRINTER’S PI—in very black capital letters.
“But even that's spelled wrong,” she said to herself. “It should
be PIE.”
The rest was a jumble of letters and figures and punctuation
marks of all kinds and sizes, something like this:--
PRINTER’S PI
:7xumllq „ffneosnburi fussiop
8—.. 4pa 55 n%@W (h;TP #9
:beic?SI. S pvhr-5. X ufram
tuPL#7.-)-vdgsyainby PT.;$£
tcb yjo:; bf hyS RVTG Y#3-407
.a,Ohf6 %cRVhin#2.yuth43'/:p
.19n?b6h5g4c$2x -invbg
Some
MOTO
"Perhaps it's a puzzle?”
“It looks very interesting and like some foreign language,” said
Alice, doubtfully. “But what does it mean?”.
"That's what I was hoping you'd be able to tell me,” said the
Printer, thoughtfully tapping the paper as though to shake the
jumble of letters into some more readable arrangement.
“Children usually know all about pie. You see, I have to
print this sort of thing now and then just to keep busy now that they
have a Town Crier,” he added apologetically.
“I wish I had a piece of apple pie right this minute,” sighed
Alice, suddenly reminded that she was very hungry in spite of the
two flying buns she had eaten.
“You ought to've come at Fair time you know,” said the Printer;
“but perhaps we can manage it, it's only a matter of spelling after
all.”
(32)


THE PEEVISH PRINTER
NOU
He drew from the huge pocket in his apron a very compactly
folded up little printing press and some small sheets of paper; found
an E—which he inked with the palm of his hand and printed it
carefully after the PI of the title, making it PIE.
“They're kicking up such a noise I almost forgot how to spell,”
he muttered to himself. “Don't want to see you go hungry, though,
and I'll do the best I can for you. But show me first your penny,”
he added absent-mindedly.
While he talked he had been tearing the paper into the form
of scalloped circle like this
—and finally handed it to her.
Alice was somehow not in the least
surprised that the paper pie had become
brown and warm and fragrant and the
letters P I E had turned into the usual
row of cuts in the crust.
She handed him a penny which he
took and examined with great interest
turning it over and over and murmuring minimum
in a hoarse whisper,—“Very pretty,-
very pretty-a good likeness, too-very good indeed.”
Alice had noticed that his voice had been growing hoarser and
hoarser as he talked. It was now scarcely audible.
When he had thoroughly examined the coin he put it back into
her hand, pushing it away without a word when she tried to return
it to him. He then started setting type with great rapidity and
slipping a small piece of paper into the press he jammed down the
lever, raised it again and pulled out this neatly printed little slip:
I said, “show me your penny"
Not, “give me your penny.”
(33]


THE PEEVISH PRINTER
'.ie, "^

"Oh!" said Alice, "so you did."
This seemed to her a strange way
of carrying on a conversation but,
"After all," she said to herself, "it's
really a very nice sort of a game. I
wonder if he usually talks this way?"
The Printer seemed to have read
her thoughts, for in the twinkling of an
eye he had printed another little slip
like this:
Well, in the first place, as you see, my voice is rather weak;
It very rapidly becomes a whisper, so to speak.
Just think how handy it might be to print, instead of talk,
If I should fall into the sea:
"Help! Help!" I'd never squawk.
Not I, I'd print some circulars
(In bold faced type display)
"Your kind assistance is required;
I'm sinking in the bay."
Or, if I took to me a wife,
Stone deaf; of course, you see
In converse, then, how indispensable my press would be!
"That sounds very reasonable, I must say," mused Alice.
Of course it's reasonable
said (or rather printed) the peevish Printer, petulantly; then some-
thing seemed to occur to him. He smiled mysteriously and printed this—("That tiny type looks just like a whisper," thought Alice).
(34 1


THE PEEVISH PRINTER
When he had printed fifty or more he gathered them up and
jumped to his feet. Then thrusting one into Alice's hand so excitedly
that he caused her to drop the pie, he dashed off into the crowd
distributing his red circulars right and left in mad haste. Even the
Bellman stopped his din in amazement.
Alice looked at the scarlet sheet and read in huge capitals
FIRE!! FIRE!!!
FIRE!!!!
(36)



RUS
1-SHAVES
BARBER
Bull
Oltiltru
Tit(CH
rrrira
WIKI
tut
FRP FIRE
FIRE HIS
DRINA
Crotone
SA
FOTO
IN
Man
w
ith
solo un
W
inte tirspurva
V
.CO
“Fire!!
Fire!!! Fire!!!!”
(page 36)





CHAPTER IV
Firell


-.V. *'» '' «•"".-. ''".I>


JJ^


CHAPTER IV
Fire!!
All was confusion and excitement! Some of the Mother Goose
people were running in one direction and some in another. Most
of the crowd were trying to squeeze through the town-gate and
seemed to be hopelessly stuck in the narrow opening.

While Alice stood wondering in which direction the fire really
lay, she noticed nearby a little man in green pointing excitedly with
a long flute. Looking in the direction in which he was pointing she
saw, through an opening between the bakery and the barber shop
a thin column of smoke which seemed to come from behind a barn
in a field about half a mile away.
"That must be it," thought Alice, "for where there's smoke
there must be fi ."
Just then somebody collided with her so violently that she was
almost knocked off her feet!
"I beg your pardon, Miss, but really you know, Miss, you
should be more careful 'ow you stands about staring—that was, as
you might say, a close shave. I might 'ave cut yer hear off"."

1391


# fire!! $
It was the Barber. He held a large nicked razor and a mug of
lather in one hand and an unfinished wig in the other. He was
very much confused and flustered by the collision and began to
mutter, "I'll never get it done. I'll never get it done, that I won't.
Something halways hinterrupts."
He seemed so unhappy that Alice, wishing to divert his mind,
bethought herself of the pie and politely offered him a bite.
"Thankee Miss"—said the Barber, brightening, "a pinch or two,—
a pinch or two—it's just wot I needs."
Puzzled by his words, Alice looked down at the pie and saw to
her surprise that it was a pie no longer but a very large round snuff
box, the cover of which still slightly resembled a piecrust, being
made of yellow ivory, inlaid with flying blackbirds; the edge was
scalloped.
"You're werry kind, Miss, I'm sure, you're werry kind indeed.
Though I'm bound to say," he added, "as how ladies doesn't usually
carry—" "Look!!" cried Alice, "who are they?"
Two quaint figures, a boy and a girl, were coming down the
street in long leaps. It seemed to be a sort of race and the strange
girl, who had just cleared the may pole in a tremendous jump, was
slightly in the lead. "It'll be Jumping-Joan and Jack-be-Nimble,
of course, Miss, they always gets to fires first," muttered the Barber
complainingly. And then, struck by a bright idea, he shouted at the
fast approaching figures, "Give us a lift! Give us a lift!" And turn-
ing to Alice, " 'Itch on and 'old tight!"
The next moment Alice found herself clinging to Jack-be-
Nimble's hand and leaping with him over the candlestick maker's
shop. "Just like big grasshoppers," she said to herself.
Soon they could see the fire distinctly.
"It's the King's haystack, just as I thought!" said Jack, ex-
citedly, "and we ought to be the first ones there. I hope that big
barn near the stack doesn't catch fire, for all the King's horses are
in there"
[401



"It seemed to be a sort of race"
(page 40)





FIRE!!
Id.
"Have you met my friend,”—she began; but when she turned
it was quite a different person from her leaping partner of a few
moments before whose hand she now held. He was a strange little
spindle legged man, rather shabby, with very long hair, large wistful
eyes and a friendly smile.
"I'm the Poet. Jack was only a disguise. Have to do it, or
they'd get me, I surmise,” said he, pointing back at the crowd they
had left far behind.
Alice, the Snipe, and the Poet were now walking hurriedly
across a broad stubbly field toward the burning haystack. As they
approached, a cloud of Lady Bugs passed over them, coming from
the direction of the fire. “Poor things,” said the Snipe, remorse-
fully to himself, “they probably lived in that haycock.”
“Let's watch the blaze awhile from here, until the townsfolk
get too near,” suggested the Poet smiling at Alice and added, “Then
we must skip, you know, my dear, all three of us have cause to fear!"
Alice now noticed for the first time that the little man wore a
brass chain about his neck with a metal tag, numbered 333; she
wondered what it could possibly be, but was, of course, far too polite
to ask on such short acquaintance.
“My Poet's License -- as you see, my number is three-thirty-
three,” the Poet remarked pleasantly, noticing her curiosity. “A
thing I'm very proud of too, - be-
coming, quite, I think. Don't you?”
All this time the smoke from the
hay was growing blacker and thicker,
and the din of the fire-alarm bag-pipes
was getting louder and wilder and the
scraping of the cat's fiddle more shrill
and piercing.
Now from the big barn nearby
came sounds of trampling feet and un-
grammatical shouts of “That's him!

[42]


FIRE
II

She had just turned to see if
the Poet and Snipe were any-
where near her when suddenly
everything grew black as night
and she realized that they had
dived into the thick cloud of
smoke from the fire. Alice
clutched the arrow tighter. "For,"
she said to herself, "it would be nasty to fall into the fire with
this clean pinafore on."
Somehow the shaft of the arrow had grown softer and feathery
and when Alice looked down she saw that it was now a fat grey
goose she rode! The goose seemed to have lost her way in the dense
smoke and was flying hither and thither in an aimless fashion.
The smoky darkness was full of sparks. "Or are they stars?"
she wondered. "And isn't that the light from a little window way
off there?" The goose seemed to have seen the lighted window too,
for she stopped darting about and flew very rapidly in that direction,
murmuring half under her breath, "That's the house I'm sure, I
smell the cakes aburning."
As they came nearer Alice saw that the light came from a tiny
little thatched cottage, built high in the air, on four tremendously
long poles.
"Why it's all upstairs," she exclaimed.
"To prove that I'm erratic, I built my house all attic," said a
voice near at hand; and there was the Poet flying along beside her
on a goose exactly like hers.
[441


CHAPTER V
Self-Steering Pens



VJfXffi'


CHAPTER V
Self-Steering Pens
By the time they had reached the front door
of the strange little four-legged house and alight-
ed, the smoke had all cleared away. Instead of
sparks, the sky was full of wonderfully brilliant
stars, thickly spread and so carefully arranged in
their constellations that one could easily pick out
the Great Bear, the Little Bear and all the rest;
the Dragon was so real that Alice was almost
frightened for the moment. "It's just like the
chart in Uncle's big Astronomy," she cried, clap-
ping her hands.
The Poet turned to Alice and said earnestly,
"If the Dipper were nearer 'twould do very well
(perhaps you have noticed a scorched sort of smell!)
but we're short here of water, so far from the
ground, and cakes always burn if I just turn
around."
He had been fumbling with a curious big
brass key that hung at his belt and had finally
managed, by trying it backwards, to push it into
the keyhole and turn the lock which sprung to
with a loud report.
"There, that's locked now, so let's go in. It's time our supper
to begin," he murmured, and then dived in through an open window!
It seemed, to Alice, a strange performance to carefully lock the
door and enter by the window, but she was getting used to surprises
of all sorts.
"I suppose he has a reason," she decided and followed. In so
doing she knocked over a huge bottle of ink which had been stand-
ing on a little desk near the window.

1471


SELF-STEERING FENS

Alice was a very neat little
girl and anything of this sort dis-
tressed her almost beyond words.
"Oh dear! NowI've done
it," she wailed as the ink, which
was bright green, ran down over
the stool and onto the floor. She
started desperately mopping it
up with her handkerchief but
this seemed useless, as by this
time it was at least an inch deep
all over the floor!
"No matter—an accident—
worry no more, but just take a look
at my ink-saving floor," remarked the Poet casually, turning from
the stove where he had been mournfully examining the burned rem-
nants of the patty-cakes through a large reading glass.
"It happens so often—about once a day—that week ago Wednes-
day I fixed it this way," he added, and raised a small trap-door in
the middle of the floor. Alice now saw that the floor was full of
shallow grooves which led the ink to a little well under the trap-
door. Soon the last drop had run into the inkwell.
The Poet now went over to what looked like a sort of an um-
brella-stand which was full of enormous quill pens, and selecting a
beautiful bright blue one, he handed it politely to Alice, taking a
green one with yellow spots for himself. He then took from a
drawer, in the little desk, some very long narrow sheets of bright
crimson paper, remarking with a chuckle, as he held them up, "It's
easily read, as somebody said."
Sitting crosslegged on the floor, the Poet dipped his pen into
the inkwell and started to write rapidly.
"Try it! Try it! Don't sit quiet," he cried, pushing several
sheets of the crimson paper toward Alice and excitedly running his
[481


SELF-STEERING PENS

fingers through his long hair. Alice
noticed that even when he did
this the big quill-pen kept on
writing busily, making a wonder-
ful flourish at the end of each verse
and occasionally adding a "Spen-
cerian swan" for good measure!
Alice dipped her pen in the
bright green ink and was delight-
ed to find that it started immedi-
ately to write in a neat rounded
script, fairly dragging her small
hand along with it.
"We may as well finish up Volume Eight! No supper tonight,
says the voice of Fate," muttered the Poet after he had written a
verse or two, adding, after a moment's reflection, "Though I'm not
sure I shall ever dare to publish these. I must have a care."
Alice hardly heard a word of what the Poet was saying, for she
was fascinated by the very unusual sensation of using a "self-steer-
ing pen," and tremendously interested to see what it would write.
"Of course it will be all nonsense," she said to herself, and non-
sense it surely was. After a minute or two the blue quill stopped
and this was what she read:
"Who'llbuy my cakes?" the crocus
croaked.
And Echo answered, 'Who?'
Echo was dressed all in his best
inbrilliant, buoyant blue.
His belt was trimmed with big bright
bells,
And yet he wrung his hands,
And in despair he clawed his hair,
All bound with rubber bands,

,'
1491


SELF-STEERING PENS

mikron)
M
4
VA
en
g
JR
2
Yet tho he'd bands upon his hair
He played upon a comb!
The air was fresh and soft and sad,
Somewhat like “Homb, Sweet Homb,”
Tho this fresh air was all about,
He breathed a last farewell.
Who'll buy my cakes?' the crocus croaked;
For he had soap to sell.”
The Poet scratched his head judicially
for a moment then said slowly, “That's
rather good, yes rather good, but really now
I think I should leave out that part about
the cake, it almost makes one's stomach
ache. Though, if one makes of it a lather,
soap's not bad eating—if you'd rather.
Let's see if this one's worth its ink—the
title's pleasing—'Come to Think.'”
The Poet then started to read from
ECHO
the sheet he was holding-
“COME TO THINK”
Why is it ZEBRA'S sometimes spelled with double X and Y?
I don't know, but I'll ask Aunt Ann, perhaps she'll tell me why.
And why, you ask me, does a dog face always nor’-nor' west?
I cannot answer that although I've tried my level best.
And why, oh why, do you and I
Walk on our thumbs and ears?
I do not know, you do not know,
They do not know, my dears.
Why is a porpoise always pink?
I'll try hard to recall-
Why—come to think, they're never pink.
THEY'RE NEVER PINK AT ALL!
om
( 50 )





SELF-STEERING PENS
“That'll do I guess,” said the Poet doubtfully, setting the sheet
aside. “It's got a good moral, anyway.” Alice couldn't exactly see
just where the moral came but she didn't interrupt to ask about it,
for the Poet had already begun to chuckle over another sheet which
he soon started to read as follows:-
SECRETS
Come close to me, that I to you a secret may impart;
A secret more important, too, than how to toss a tart.
I'll whisper in your purple ear, like this, a word or two.
Come nearer, lest they overhear;
They seek the Wurbaloo!
At three o'clock I heard them creep, at four I heard
them crawl,
At five-fifteen in silence deep I-
DONG! DONG!! DONG!!!
Alice jumped to her feet in alarm, for a sudden deafening sound
of bells filled the tiny room.
“Whoa there! BACK! Dobbin, Jack,” shouted the Poet
over his shoulder in a matter-of-fact way. Alice looking in the
direction of the furious ringing saw that it came from bells on the
collars of two tiny dappled horses who
had stepped out onto a little platform
under the face of a very curiously
carved clock like a toy stable, which
hung in the corner of the room.
“Well,” said Alice, much reliev-
ed, “that is a strange sort of
cuc-keo-clock.”
“It's not a cuc-koo-clock, my dear.
Those are bell horses that you hear.”
“One o'clock, two o'clock, off
and away,” quoted Alice.

St.
[51]


SELF-STEERING PENS
"Yes," shouted the Poet, for the bells were still jangling loudly.
"At two o'clock the Beggars always come, and we have nothing
for 'em, not a crumb. And hark! I think I hear another bell, that
must be Pussy, once more down the well. You jump on Dobbin
and I'll take old Jack and off we'll go before—"
At this moment the Snipe, whom Alice had almost forgotten,
poked his head in the little window and whispered hoarsely, "Quick!
they're coming! Don't you hear the dogs barking? Run for it!"

152]


CHAPTER VI
It's a Dangerous Place


CHAPTER VI
It's A DANGEROUS PLACE
Almost before the Snipe had finished his warning, Alice found
herself mounted on one of the dappled bell-horses and galloping
along at a furious pace on a dark road which wound in and out
through a very dismal forest of twisted, bare trees.

Mind
AMA
MUS
e
O
JR
pay
The bell on her horse's collar made a terrifying amount of noise
in the silent woods.
“I'm sure the Beggars will hear it and know where I am,” said
Alice half aloud. She finally managed to reach down over the
horse's neck and tie her handkerchief about the bell-clapper. She
(55]


IT'S A DANGEROUS PLACE

adeelendita
"Don't you think you'd
better get up behind me and
ride a ways?” she suggested, for
the roly poly little fellow was be-
ginning to puff from his exertions in keeping up
with the galloping bell-horse; and anyhow, it would
be rather a comfort, she thought, under the cir-
cumstances to have such a hero as Johnny Stout
near her for a while, at least.
He assented very readily, and handing Alice
the bedraggled White Kitten, clambered up
panting.
The further they rode into the wood the darker
it became. The trees were now so tall and the
branches so interwoven that no sky was to be seen.
From these gnarled black branches hung long grey
moss like the threadbare garments of ugly old
giants. “In fact, I'm not at all sure that they are
really trees and not ogres of some sort,” said Alice
to herself.
Once or twice she looked back over her shoulder and it was very
disturbing to notice that the trees had apparently closed in behind
them and seemed to be standing in the road pointing at her and
whispering together. In these rather terrifying surroundings it
was a comfort to have the little White Kitten to hug, damp though
it was.
"Its purring sounds very homelike,” thought Alice.
“Must be long past tea time, and this riding gives a chap an
awful appetite,” sighed Johnny Stout, after they had gone what
seemed miles and miles. It was now almost pitch dark. “We'll
soon be at the mill though, and if you'll just pretend you've a wooden
leg we may get a dumpling or two."
Alice was about to ask for an explanation of this puzzling
pel
e
S
[57]


IT'S A DANGEROUS PLACE
remark when she caught sight of a lighted window through the trees
ahead and heard the clattering and creaking of a mill-wheel.
“What a strange place for a mill here in this deep forest!" she
exclaimed. “But perhaps it's a saw-mill.”
"You're almost right,” said Johnny, “but not exactly. It's an
axe-mill. A place where they grind axes, you know; they have to

Tuva
was
have axes to cut down trees to make axe helves, to say nothing of
the jack-straws and tooth-picks they make from the smaller pieces.”
As they drew nearer they heard loud harsh voices raised in
angry dispute.
“They're always at it,” said Johnny. “Never saw such a family
for fighting. You see the Old Miller has dyspepsia, and no wonder,
he lives on crab-apple dumplings!”
By this time they had almost reached the mill, the door of which
now burst violently open. Out hopped a dishevelled young woman
with a wooden leg, followed closely by an ugly bald old man who
stopped just outside the door to hurl a huge, heavy looking dumpling
at her. "What did I tell you?” chuckled Johnny, “That old-
CAW! CA-AW! ! ! CA-A-AW! ! !
( 58 ]


IT S A DANGEROUS PLACE
Suddenly there had arisen the most unearthly clamor that
Alice had ever heard.
The bell-horse stumbled and fell, and as she floated gently to
the ground, Alice thought she heard Johnny's voice—far, far away—
shouting, "The Raven! the Raven! mind the trees don't fall on you!"
"That must be the Raven that cried 'croak' and they all fell
down," said Alice to herself. .
"And I've only eight lives left," the Kitten murmured sadly, open-
ing one eye, then going to sleep again immediately on Alice's shoulder.
Alice was too much interested in what was happening about her
to realize that this was the first time the Kitten had spoken a word.
Everything seemed to be falling. The mill had collapsed like a
cardboard toy; the Miller and his daughter were both sprawling
on the ground, and the trees of the forest themselves swayed, tottered
and fell in a curious, noiseless way. Even the road was slowly caving
in and becoming a sort of shallow gulley.
When Alice thought to look for the Raven, the great black
bird was just disappearing in the distance, and she was almost sure
she heard its hoarse, far-off laughter.
"I really can't see that this is all such a joke," said Alice se-
verely to nobody in particular.
"You'll have to hurry, or we'll never catch up to it," murmured
the Kitten in a very sleepy voice, pointing feebly ahead, then falling
asleep immediately, as before.
Alice looked and saw the big steaming dumpling rolling slowly
along down the sunken road not far ahead of them. Now that most
of the trees had fallen, there was more light and she could see quite
a distance.
The bell-horse had disappeared; so remembering that she was very
hungry and feeling, too, that the sooner they got out of the way of
the ill-tempered Miller the better, Alice acted upon the White
Kitten's advice and started to run as fast as she could after the rolling
dumpling.
[59]


IT'S A DANGEROUS PLACE

Before Alice had gone more than a dozen yards, there came the
sound of running footsteps behind her, and thinking that it was surely
the Miller in swift pursuit, she redoubled her speed and actually
flew, for the road was now caving in so rapidly and Alice was bound-
ing along at such a remarkable speed that her feet only occasionally
touched the ground. * * *
It was with great relief that Alice soon heard a familiar voice,
just behind her panting, “You need not fear—'tis I, my dear.”
Looking back she saw the Poet, whom she had forgotten all about,
with his long hair streaming out behind him. A pink riding coat-
several sizes too large—which he was now wearing, flapped about
his slender legs as he caught up to her with tremendous leaps.
Alice was really very glad to see him again. “After all, he is
a good natured fellow and pleasant company, even if he does always
talk in verse,” she said to herself.
“I too, have lost my good bell-horse,—the Raven was the cause
of course," said the Poet conversationally; then noticing the dump-
ling—which somehow, no matter how fast they went kept just about
the same distance ahead of them he exclaimed: “I say, how lucky!
as for me, I'm just as empty as can be. We really must increase
1601





IT'S A DANGEROUS PLACE
la v
our speed if on yon dumpling we would feed, but there's the sentry-
box, my dear, and now, perhaps, the Grenadier—"
"Halt!" a tremendous voice-coming apparently from a sentry-
box at the side of the road-boomed out, and the next moment a
soldier, at least seven feet tall, in a brilliant scarlet and white uni-
form and very heavy hob-nailed shoes, 2
stepped stiffly out. He held a musket in die
one hand and large pewter tankard in the
other.
At the thunderous command, “Halt!" she thing
Alice and the Poet stopped short, for the
huge Grenadier was really a terrifying per-
son. The Dumpling, however, paid no
attention but bounced past the sentry-box without any slackening
of its speed. (Alice now noticed for the first time that the dump-
ling was provided with short arms and legs and was not really roll-
ing, but was progressing by turning handsprings in rapid succession.)
The Grenadier scowled at it in stupid surprise and again bawled
out, “Halt!!!” this time so loud that the tin sentry-box rocked and
clattered. Then to Alice's astonishment, he laid his musket on
the ground and balanced himself clumsily upon his head. Taking
his musket again and placing it upside-down to his shoulder he now
aimed long and carefully at the fast disappearing Dumpling.
While the Grenadier was doing this, the Poet said to Alice in a
rapid whisper, “He shows by his actions he knows how to shoot.
His idea's original, clever, and cute. A musket will kick as you
probably know,-one's often knocked over, so hard is the blow-
and if one should land on one's head it's no joke: One's neck is as
likely as not to be broke. He's wise then to stand on his head,
I repeat, for when the gun kicks, he'll be knocked to his feet. More-
over-
Here there was a deafening explosion and from the Grenadier's
musket came a great puff of white smoke which instead of quickly

161]


IT S A DANGEROUS PLACE
blowing away, as smoke usually does, kept spreading and spreading
and getting thicker and whiter and thicker and whiter, until finally
it blotted out the sentry-box * * and the fallen trees * * *
and the road *****
rvr

[62]


CHAPTER VII
The “Summersault Sally"


THE “SUMMERSAULT SALLY"
Go
lui
CS
20
WHERE to USA
IITTATI
Filip
RA
"Summersault Sally,” the first thing
Alice noticed was a number of enor-
mous white rats, in sailor suits,
busily engaged in coiling up cordage.
"Perhaps,” she said to herself,
“those ropes are the ratlines. But
why,” she asked the Poet, “should
anyone want rats for sailors?”
The Poet considered a moment
and then said, “Rats always leave
a sinking ship, you see, so I suppose,
the Captain takes 'em every trip, for
while they're 'round he knows—"
Here a rumbling voice from the forward part of the ship reached
their ears and the Poet cut short his explanation of the rat sailors
to say, “Ah, there's good Captain Tee Wee now—just hear him
singing in the bow.”
Looking in the direction whence the sound came, Alice saw
a tiny man, hardly more than two feet high, dressed in a very
exaggerated nautical costume. He was doing a curious sort of a
“revolving sailor dance,” and singing in a voice that might have
belonged to a giant, the following song:
“Oh, never, never leave, my lads,
Your happy, happy home.
Your parents' hearts ’twill grieve, my lads,
If off to sea you roam.
Then listen to, polite, my lads,
This ballad; hark ye well,
For sure as black is white, my lads,
It is the truth I tell.
Young Percival O. Pink, my lads,
He ran away to sea,
Although you'd never think, my lads,

[66]



)))۶۱۱۱۱۱
از 12
3311
و
eo
کسی
پر
را کردارلار --
Jan
JR
مال الاسررررات
کلللت
کی
الزلزال
“The clouds * * * had changed by now to a rather
milky looking sea" (pare 65)





THE “SUMMERSAULT SALLY”
A thing like that could be.
For Percy's home, you know, my lads,
Was fine as one could wish.
So why then should he go, my lads,
To face the flying-fish?
Pink's parrot sang, they say, my lads,
'The Battle of the Ford'
Five hundred times a day, my lads,
And Percy, he was bored. * * * *
His mother 'most went mad, my lads,
When Perc could not be found.

101
She says, says she, ‘’E's went to sea,
And surely will be drowned!'
His father, Peter Pink, my lads,
Says, 'dry your heyes, my dear,
For lookee, Peg, 'is wooden leg
Will float 'im, never fear.'
She sobbed afresh and said, my lads,
'When hoff to sea 'e chased,
That wooden limb-oh, woe is 'im-
'E left it in 'is 'aste!'
Says Pete, 'Your tears you waste, my love,
'Is 'aste with ’im must be,
[67]


THE “SUMMERSAULT SALLY"
So if it's in 'is 'aste, my love,
'E's got it, don't you see?'
Then do the Captain's jig, my lads,
And keel and double-haul,
And lower away the gig, my lads,
And catch me if I fall!”
The diminutive Captain's whirling, bounding dance had been
growing more and more energetic as the song proceeded, and with the
last words, which were panted rather than sung, he bounced right

VIVA
son
into Alice, who, to keep him from falling, caught him in her arms,
where for a while he lay gasping like a fish out of water.
When Captain Tee Wee had recovered his breath, Alice placed
him carefully on the deck, thinking as she did so, “He looks just like
a live sailor-doll.”
The tiny fellow still seemed a trifle dizzy and uncertain, but
after a moment he remarked casually, “Last time it was the Snipe
caught me.”
(68)


THE "SUMMERSAULT SALLY"
"Oh, is the Snipe on board?" cried Alice. "I was afraid he
might have been caught and put in er-a—that is "Here
she broke off, for it occurred to her that it might be just as well to
say nothing about the pipe and the setting afire of the King's hay-
stack.
"Oh yes, he was caught!" thundered the Captain, who had now
entirely recovered his voice. "He was caught all right enough,
Missy, but they lets him out on bail, though I'd about as leifgoto
the dungeons as have to ride around on that there lubberly beast."
"They're looking for his accomplice now," he went on very
seriously, but with a mischievous wink at the Poet. "Some say
as how he was seen, at the time the haystack caught fire, with a
little girl with lightish hair. About your age, she was, Missy, I
should judge."
Here the Captain looked hard at Alice, then raised his eyebrows
and slowly winked at the Poet. "They ought to be back soon,"
he said reflectively, after a moment.
Alice, who was beginning to feel a little anxious, was about to ask
whom he meant by "they," when the ship, which had been rolling
and pitching only moderately, gave a more decided lurch than usual
and the poor Captain tumbled over flat on his back. Alice and the
Poet had barely picked him up and set him on his feet when again he
tumbled, now falling forward on his nose. As they helped him to
rise he muttered peevishly, "If only I hadn't lost that key, I'd not
be falling about so."
Then, after a vain search through all his pockets, he continued,
"That confounded Snipe's probably carried it off, for a joke. Souse
him in bilge-water! Like as not he's a using of it now for a sinker!"
"Please, what key are you talking about, and what can it pos-
sibly have to do with your falling down so much?" asked Alice
with some impatience.
"Why, the key to my sea-chest, of course, child!" roared the
Captain. "That's where I keep my sea-legs," he added, in quieter

[691


THE “SUMMERSAULT SALLY”)
STUNDE
w
17.
Morales
t
.
explanation. "The feet on 'em, you know, are werry much larger
than land-feet, and the knees have springs in 'em. that pulls you up
straight whenever you starts to fall.” As if to illustrate this point,
Captain Tee Wee bent his knees and began to sway back and forth,
and—the "Summersault Sally” pitching, just then, unexpectedly,
down he went once more, this time rolling over and over along the
deck toward an open hatch-
way. Just as he reached
it, a man, evidently a Cook,
appeared coming up through
the opening carrying a very
large, full soup toureen, and
into this with a great splash,
fell the poor little Captain!
Evidently the soup was
not very hot, for the Cook
unconcernedly fished the
sputtering Captain out and
set him, dripping, on his
feet, merely saying, respect-
fully, as he peered anxiously
into the toureen: “I'm werry much afraid as 'ow most of it's spilled,
sir.” Here the Cook glanced meaningly at Alice and the Poet and shook
his head in a discouraged sort of way, as if to say, “This sort of thing
happens almost every day, you know.”
"And it's probably ruined my watch,” choked the Captain,
mournfully, pulling from a pocket in his blouse a short length of fish
line and a very curious object, which looked more like a large brass
peg-top than a watch, though Alice saw that there was a row of
numerals painted around it up near the peg.
“You may look at it if you like, Missy,” the Captain added,
handing the strange watch and the fishing line to Alice. (She had
started to mop him off with her small handkerchief and was having

TOW
[ 70 ]


THE SUMMERSAULT SALLY
a very discouraging time of it). "It's my self-winding port watch,"
he went on, proudly. "You see, I wind it myself."
"I suppose you have to spin it with the fishline, like a boy's
top?" said Alice, smiling at the Captain's last remark.
"That's the beauty of it, Missy, that's the beauty of it," cried
the Captain, enthusiastically. "You see this here watch only goes
while you're a spinning of it; and while it's a spin-
ning, you nacherly can't tell time by it, Missy. Coz
why? Coz you can't see the numbers on it then,
nohow."
"Well," said Alice, doubtfully, "I shouldn't
call that a very satisfactory kind of time-piece."
"A very good one, I should say—to lose a train
by, anyway," put in the Poet, with a grin.
"Best kind, I calls it," said the Captain very
positively; "never a proddin' of you by remindin'
you it's gettin' late for something or other. Leaves
all that to your own good judgment, like." He
had been clumsily winding the fishing line about
the watch as he spoke and now drew back his arm
to spin it. In so doing he jostled the Cook,
who during the conversation had been
standing behind him
thoughtfully drinking up
what was left of the soup.
The toureen dropped
from the Cook's hands,
but instead of breaking
into a thousand pieces
on the deck—as might
have been expected —
it bounced like a large
rubber ball!

'
[711


CHAPTER VIII
Buttermilk Channel





CHAPTER VIII
BUTTERMILK CHANNEL
TER
MIL
Milkman! Milkman! where have you been?
In Buttermilk Channel up to my chin.
I spilt my milk; I spoiled my clothes-
And got a long icicle hung to my nose.
The next thing Alice knew, she was foundering about in a sea
of buttermilk!
The buttermilk, curiously enough, did not seem to wet or chill
her, though, as she discovered later it was deliciously cool to drink.
When she had recovered her wits sufficiently to look about her,
Alice saw that the "Summersault Sally" was already some distance
away and plunging along at great speed. She could
just make out the familiar figure of the Poet leaning
far out over the rail, waving his hand; and, carried
on the breeze, came the words, “So sorry that you
have to leave. Good bye! Give my regards to Steve.”
The next moment the ship had disappeared in a
bank of fog.
After swimming about aimlessly for a time, Alice found to her
surprise that she could touch bottom with her feet and still keep
her head and shoulders above the surface. This of course, was a
great relief, but it was very tedious just standing about in this way
with nothing in sight but buttermilk and not a soul to converse
with. So after a while Alice began talking aloud to herself as she
usually did when all alone. “Well, of all the uninteresting, lone-
some situations, this is the very worst. I do wish some one would
come.
“And I wonder who ‘Steve' is?” she continued after a moment
or two, remembering the Poet's farewell words: “I daresay I shall
meet him before long anyway.'

(75)


BUTTERMILK CHANNEL
"Werry probably, Miss, werry probably, coz Long can't be
found nowhere,” said a melancholy voice startlingly close behind her.
Alice turned in such haste that she lost her footing on the slippery
bottom and went under.
When she came up again, sputtering, the little girl saw this
rather curious sight-a large dented milk can balanced on the head
of a very sad-faced undersized man who was standing almost up to
his neck in the buttermilk. A long icicle hanging from the end of his
nose helped to make his expression almost ludicrously woe-begone.
“And wot's more,” he was now continuing dolefully, apparently
not having taken the slightest notice of Alice's mishap. "I'm Steve!
Steve for short-that is, Steven Short's me 'ole name, Miss. Long 'e
was my pardner and that, as you might say, is the Long and Short of it.
But, as I were a-sayin' afore, 'e 'asn't been seen for days, Miss.”
"How did he happen to get lost?" asked Alice, feeling that it
was time for her to make some sort of remark.
“It's a sad story, a most distressin' story,
that it is—(here the Milkman's voice almost
broke). You see, Miss, my pardner Long were
an uncommon tall man, a regiler giant he were,
and hunfor- tunately 'is heyesight were werry
poor. And it's probable that 'is heyes gettin'
wuss—and 'im bein' so tall—'e finally got so's 'e
couldn't see no further than 'is knees, Miss, and
’is feet they took 'im
hup the wrong road
somewheres. Least-
ways that's my hop-
inion.”
“How very unfor-
tunate," was all Alice
could think of to say
in consolation, and the

wuss
WONY
De 1
[76]


BUTTERMILK CHANNEL
Teal
And the reeds were all aquiver;
(They're such nervous things you know);
I had paused a while to listen
To the singing of the stream,
When a voice said, “Now it isn't
My desire to make you scream,
Or alarm you, ma'am, unduly,
But if I were you, I'd run,
For you're in great danger, truly,
And you haven't got a gun!”
This surprising voice of warning
Came, I noticed from a bird
On a tree-top: “Just this morning,”
It continued, “I have heard
A voracious Tigerilla
Growling 'round this very tree.
My advice is—seek your villa!
Why, from here I plainly see
Seven Fryingpanthers stealthy
Coming hot upon your trail,
And you know they're most unhealthy,
'Less you catch 'em by the tail.
So, you see, you'd better scramble,
Though there's hardly any hope,
For, approaching at an amble,
Comes an Elephantelope!"
These were words to make one worry.
I stood shivering with dread-
And was just about to scurry,
When a catfish calmly said,
"Nothing's coming to pursue you;
Ma'am, don't you believe a word,
For that fellow talking to you
Is the far-famed Lyre bird!”
[78]


BUTTERMILK CHANNEL
Although Alice's verse did not seem to have had a very noticeably
cheering effect on the Milkman, he had at any rate ceased sobbing
and the tears were no longer running off the end of his nose.
“Medium good, medium,” he murmured gloomily, after quite
a long pause. “But just listen to these here werses,” he added more
brightly and drew a soggy, dripping sheet of familiar crimson paper
from his breast pocket (the tide was evidently ebbing, for the second
button of the Milkman's coat was now visible); "the Poet he wrote it
special for me, for to pay my milk bill; you see, Miss, 'e "
“Oh, do you know the Poet too?” interrupted Alice. "He's really
quite a friend of mine.” It some-
how seemed to her that she had
known the Poet for a very long

time.
“I knowed 'im last week, Miss,
but, my Gallons!'e 'as that many
disguises that you can't always
rightly tell 'o's 'im, as you might /
say. I knows 'im when 'e's a scare-
crow, an' I knows 'im when 'e's a
weal-an'am pie, and they do say
’e's wonderful convincin' as a sign-
post,” he added earnestly, hand-
ing Alice the dripping sheet (he
had been clumsily attempting to
dry it by rubbing it with his coat-sleeve which was if possible even
wetter than the paper). “You'd better read it to yourself, Miss,
hafter all, he said huskily. “You see, it's really too haffectin' to me;
not only for its hown sake, as you might say, but for the sake o’
the six bob 'e never paid me.”
Fearing that the Milkman would burst into tears again, Alice
took the sheet. She could just manage to make out the blurred
writing, and this is what she read:
[79]


BUTTERMILK CHANNEL
YEARNINGS
For years and years I've peddled Milk,
From Trent to Timbucktoo,
And also cream, though 'twas my dream
Far different things to do.
Far different things to do, to do,
Far finer things to do!
For instance, I should like to drive,
Around and round the square,
A pink and purple omnibus,
How people all would stare!

NORTE
POLE
POLE
LANS
Or, think how pleasant it would be
to stand for hours and hours,
Upon some snow-capped mountain-peak
A-selling paper flowers.
Then one might fish for griddle-cakes
Each night twixt twelve and two:
I sob and sigh, to think that I
So many things don't do.
I'd take soft soap and sea-shore sand,
And mix 'em up with tea,
And of them make a cobble cake,
180]



.
1
945
undell
lle
A
es
TVS.
Duis
بليييد
"A huge tub was approaching, spinning
round and round” (page 81)


BUTTERMILK CHANNEL
To sell at 1 and 3.
My sweetest dream of all is this,
(I love a change of scene)
At the North Pole, to dig a hole,
And plant a Lima bean;
And plant a Lima bean, a bean,
A lovely Lima bean!
While she was reading, Alice had noticed that the buttermilk
they were standing in was gradually thinning and changing to clear
water. She was just about to call the Milkman's attention to this
when she suddenly heard the sharp rub-a-dub-dubbing of a drum
behind her. Looking in the direction from whence the sound came
Alice beheld a most amusing spectacle.
A stiff breeze had sprung up and a huge tub was approaching,
spinning round and round and bobbing up and down on the choppy
waves. In the tub were three men, a Butcher and a Baker-easily
recognizable by their dress—and a third occupant, whom Alice,
because of his very insignificant size, did not notice at first.
The Baker had tried to rig up a sail by tying his apron to a long
French loaf and was making desperate efforts to brace the strange
mast with his knees and hold the flapping ends of the apron at the
same time. At his wild contortions even the melancholy Milkman
smiled feebly.
The Butcher, his face purple with exertion, was paddling as
best he could with a large meat-cleaver; the only result of this was,
of course, to keep the tub spinning faster and faster and make the
work of holding up the mast all the harder for the poor Baker.
As the strange craft drew nearer, Alice saw a tiny fellow-even
smaller than Captain Tee Wee-standing in it, furiously busy
beating a drum almost as big as himself. He was apparently wholly
oblivious to his surroundings.
“I've never seen so many dwarfish people as there are in this
sm
(81)


BUTTERMILK CHANNEL
queer country,” thought Alice. "Perhaps it's because the Artist
wasn't as careful as he should have been in drawing some of them.”
So intent were the occupants of the tub upon what they were
doing that Alice and her companion attracted no notice at all from
them until a shrill whistle and a surprisingly loud “Milk Ooooo-h!!”
from the Milkman caused them to cease their frantic efforts.
“Lard-a-pork !"* shouted the Butcher after a moment's panting
pause, and then steering with his cleaver he brought the spinning
craft about so sharply that it bumped heavily into the poor Milkman,
knocking the milk can off his head. The cover of the can came off
and the milk spilled into the tub, knocking over and nearly drowning
the little man with the drum.
"Oh, dear! We beg your pardon,” began Alice—for somehow
or other she felt responsible for the mishap. “We really didn't
mean "
She was interrupted in her apologies by a loud, joyful shout of
“Dinner Time!!” from the Baker, who was already breaking up the
long French loaf he had been using as a mast and throwing the pieces
into the milk which was swashing about in the now almost submerged
tub.
*Merely a Butcher's way of saying "Hard-a-port."
[82]


CHAPTER IX
Tub and Tunnel



にできた
​


CHAPTER IX
Tub and Tunnel
Alice soon found herself sitting on the edge of the tub with the
others, who were all now eating in ravenous silence. On one side of
her sat the Milkman, who was having a very hard time to keep his
own equilibrium on the unstable seat and at the same time balance
the now empty can which he had again placed on his head.
On the other side sat the tiny fellow with the drum which he
was now using with great success as a bowl for the bread and milk.
Having this advantage over the others, who were forced to scoop it
up with their hands, he finished his meal first.
Poor Alice, on the other hand, although very hungry, had been
unable to get any of the food, for every time she reached down to
scoop it up she nearly lost her balance, and besides, the tub seemed
always to roll in such a way as to keep the bread and milk just out
of her reach. So after a while she gave up the attempt altogether
and turned to look at the dwarfish being beside her.
Alice now noticed for the first time that he wore a curious shiny
yellow hat (exactly like a small, brass candle-holder), on top of which
was a short stub of candle. From an inside pocket of his long, tightly
buttoned yellow "duster" he now drew forth a large card with a
deep black border:

185]


TUB AND TUNNEL
story at the moment, but upon opening her mouth to do so, she was
astonished to hear herself reciting, with appropriate gestures, the
following verses:

THE
VILLAGE
CHOIR
IN
Oh, the fire-bell was ringing
In the town of Ballyhack,
And the village choir was singing,
"Bring, oh, bring my Benny back.”
Now a simple, soothing story
Is this tale of Shanghaied Ben,
Just, perhaps, a bit too gory
Where his ears are clipped, but then
There's a fairly happy ending,
Though the tune is mostly glum.
(As a rule it's quite heart-rending
On the fog-horn and the drum).
Well—the songing and the singing
'Bout the bringing back of Ben,
And the donging and the dinging
Mingled sweetly; so that when
The Policeman-who was taking
Of his after-dinner snooze-
Heard it, he, instead of waking,
Dreamed he read the
“Oxford News!”
[87]


TUB AND TUNNEL
During the recital of Alice's verses the Butcher, the Baker and
the melancholy Milkman, who had finally finished eating the last
of the bread and milk, had all been yawning audibly—which was of
course very rude under the circumstances—and seemed to be having
an increasingly difficult time to keep awake and to preserve their
balance on the rim of the tub. Just as she came to the last word,
they all tumbled overboard very neatly and quietly, and floated
off, bobbing up and down like corks on the green water, all three
snoring in perfect unison.
“They do it precisely as though
they had practiced it together
a great many times,” thought
Alice.
The little Candlestick-maker
held his sides and rocked back
and forth so alarmingly that
Alice feared he, too, would fall
overboard.
“It was either that part about
the ‘after-dinner' snooze or the
last line about reading the 'Oxford News' that finished 'em,” he
managed to say when he could control his shrill laughter.
"It was very unmannerly of them at any rate,” said Alice, “but
shouldn't we try to get them aboard again?” She felt vaguely that
something ought to be done, though as a matter of fact all three
of the floating sleepers looked perfectly comfortable and happy
where they were.
“I make it a rule,” said the Candlestick-maker seriously,
"never to disturb a man when he's taking his after-dinner nap.
He's apt to wake up very cross. Besides, it'll help their digestions
to sleep a bit. And speaking of digestions,” he rattled on, "reminds
me of cheese, and cheese reminds me of cake (here he reached toward
the pocket of his yellow coat). Now what would you say to a piece?"

[88]


TUB AND TUNNEL $
"Oh," answered Alice, in delighted anticipation, "I'd say
'thank you, very much;' there's nothing I like better, especially
pound cake!"
"Well, I'd hardly say all that to a piece of cake I'd never met
before," said the Candlestick-maker reprovingly. "However, it
doesn't really matter, for I wasn't referring to a piece of cake anyhow;
only to a piece of poetry. It's my turn, you know," he added with a
chuckle, apparently enjoying his little joke immensely.
Alice sat back with a long sigh of resignation.
These repeated disappointments in the matter of food were
becoming most aggravating. "I wonder," she said to herself
wistfully, "if I shall ever really get anything to eat again?"
The Candlestick-maker now drew from his pocket a folded sheet
of yellow paper which he smoothed out and dusted carefully on both
sides with his tiny handkerchief. He then handed it to Alice, re-
marking with a pleasant smile, "Perhaps you'd rather read it your-
self, eh? It's really most appropriate to this occasion, my dear."
Then without waiting for a reply he cleared his throat complacently
once or twice and, taking the paper out of Alice's hand, before she
had had time to more than glance at the first line, he read with great
satisfaction:
A MATTER OF TASTE.
What kind of food do I prefer?
My tastes are simple, quite!
I like the pickled chestnut burr,
And now and then a bite
Of sugared oleander bark
And, in the early spring,
Green cactus, gathered after dark
On Tuesday, is the thing!
Some claim that kerosene and sand,
Though ticklish to the tongue,
Beats even frozen fritters and
89]


TUB AND TUNNEL
Is fine for old and young.
A friend of mine once used to make
A stew of lizard legs
And linseed oil; while jelly cake
He'd salt away in kegs.
Of course, we can't be all alike

OIL
SALE
In what we choose to chew,-
A fine puree of railroad spike
Might not appeal to you.
But that reminds me, Uncle Ben,
To ask you, what's your choice.
What victuals do you call for when
Your appetite you voice?
Do you demand wild roses panned-
Or choc'late-coated eels?
Unk scratched his head then slowly said,
“What I like most is—meals!”
As any reference to food was becoming very painful to Alice,
she made no comment on this doggerel, and, in the interval of silence
that followed, the Candlestick-maker, with the injured air of one
whose best efforts have been unappreciated, carefully folded the
sheet, sealed it with a bright yellow wafer which he had taken from
ier
nic
Dm
[90]


TUB AND TUNNEL

He seemed to be in a great hurry,
as postmen usually are. Taking a rather
bulky package from his bag he tossed it
to Alice, remarking pleasantly, "Proper
fine day, Miss;" then, touching his cap,
he was off.
"Nothing for me?" the Candlestick-
maker called after him. But the Post-
man kept on, unheeding, and soon dis-
appeared from view.
"It's high time I was getting an answer," said the little man,
complainingly.
"But who do you suppose sent me this?" Alice exclaimed, sur-
prised and delighted at receiving this unexpected piece of mail.
"Probably it's only a note from the Stage Manager, reminding
you to be on time for the rehearsal," said the Candlestick-maker,
trying hard to keep the envy out of his voice. "Though, of course
after all this delay we're frightfully late, already."
Although she had not the slightest idea what "rehearsal" her
little companion was referring to, Alice did not ask for particulars
just then. She was too much occupied with her fascinating mail
package. It was a most interesting looking one, too; wrapped in
oiled silk and tied with a piece of seaweed. Furthermore, the packet
was rather heavy for its size and almost completely covered with
two-penny stamps except for the small space where ALICE M.
was written in green ink.
"What does the M stand for?" asked the Candlestick-maker
rather suspiciously. "You see," he went on before giving her time
to reply, "it might mean ALICE MAYBE! So perhaps it's not for
you after all. It might even be intended for me."
This was a rather disturbing thought, especially as, curiously
enough, Alice could not for the life of her, at the moment, remember
her full name. "It stands—" she said, hesitating uncertainly as
[931


TUB AND TUNNEL
she started to open the package, "I think it stands for my last name."
"Your last name, eh? How often do you change your name,
I'd like to know? And you can't even be sure what the last one was!
I suppose ALICE is the name you had before you changed it for
this last one that you can't remember. Well, there's something
mighty suspicious about it, that's all I can say."
Poor Alice was so confused by this rapid and complicated
speech, that she did not even try to argue about the name but said
weakly, "I suppose so," and went on unwrapping her package,
which proved to contain a small collapsible telescope and a thin pack
of little red cards, tied together with a broad white ribbon upon

which were printed the letters S. C. T. Upon each of the cards was
written a single word. Alice read them off just as they happened
to come in the little pack.
LOOK YOURS BEEN P. SEE TRULY SPYGLASS
THROUGH THAT THE YOU'LL WE'VE AND WRECKED.
"No doubt it means something," said Alice, half aloud, after
she had tried many different combinations of the words without
success.
"Maybe it's some sort of a cipher message," said the Candle-
[94]


TUB AND TUNNEL $
stick-maker, eagerly. He seemed to have entirely forgotten his
suspicions and had been looking through the large end of the pocket
telescope with great intentness; now at Alice and not out to where
the Butcher, the Baker and the Milkman were just disappearing
on the horizon. He now handed the glass to Alice and taking the
cards examined them carefully one by one. "Of course, that P.
means that it's a message from the Poet!" he cried excitedly, after
a moment or two. "And he almost always uses a secret code." Then,
taking from his pocket a little yellow-covered book, he started rapidly
thumbing over the pages, all of which seemed to be covered with
row after row of zeros. "Here it is!" the Candlestick-maker finally
cried delightedly. "The S. C. T. on the ribbon means SHUFFLE
CARDS TWICE!" Then in his excitement, instead of putting the
book back in his pocket, he threw it into the water where it was
immediately swallowed by a fat, sleepy looking fish labeled, LIBRA-
RIAN.
"You shuffle 'em once, and then I'll shuffle 'em once," he sug-
gested eagerly. They did this and the cards then read:
LOOK THROUGH THE SPY-GLASS AND YOU'LL SEE
THAT WE'VE BEEN WRECKED.
YOURS TRULY,
P.
"How exciting!" cried Alice; "and what fun that puzzle was.
But I do hope none of them was drowned." And then, shutting one
eye, she raised the spy-glass to the other. ********
Alice found to her astonishment that she was not looking through
a telescope at all, but was standing in a dark, narrow railroad tunnel.
The opening at the end of the tunnel seemed miles ahead, and
yet as Alice looked at the circle of light she began to see what looked
at first like a rather blurry magic-lantern picture of a "Storm at
Sea."
As the picture grew clearer, she made out, in the foreground,
a number of rats swimming through the waves in two very straight
[95]


TUB AND TUNNEL
lines, like soldiers, with one especially large rat, who seemed to be
a sort of Colonel, in the lead. A little behind these came the Poet,
the Cook and the Captain, apparently engaged in an animated con-
versation. Back of this group were the Butcher, the Baker and the
Milkman, all three still sleeping heavily. Bringing up the rear of
this curious procession was a tremendous turtle floundering doggedly
along.
Alice laughed heartily at the strangely ridiculous picture. "If
only they had a fife and drum it would be a regular 'aquatic parade,'"
she chuckled. "I'm sure I wish "She was interrupted at this
point by the scraping splutter of a match just back of her, and turning
saw that it was the Candlestick-maker whom, of course, she had not
noticed in the darkness of the tunnel. He was lighting the short
candle on top of his hat; this done, he drew from his pocket (which
seemed to be inexhaustible) a small fife and, handing it to Alice,
remarked: "Not bad, that idea of yours about the fife and drum
music, my dear. Fancy what a tremendous, beautiful noise it'll
make in this tunnel, too!" he went on enthusiastically. "We might
try 'Soldiers of the Queen' first, eh?"
Now Alice had never before even tried to play a fife, so she was
more than a little surprised to find upon attempting it very doubt-
fully, that she could play with considerable ease and flourish.
The Candlestick-maker adjusted his drum and they marched
along up the track, the tunnel reverberating with the din of their
fifing and drumming.
Alice was so occupied with her delightful new-found accomplish-
ment that for a time she forgot the strange procession of swimmers;
and when after finishing "Soldiers of the Queen" she looked for it
again, it had changed to merely a blank spot of bright light such
as one always sees at the end of a tunnel.
They were about to start on another lively tune when the
Candlestick-maker, pointing excitedly, shouted: "Here's luck!"
And the dim light thrown by the candle revealed a small hand-car
[961


CHAPTER X
Iceberg


CHAPTER X
ICEBERG
2
as
The speed at which they went tearing along was at first so great
that Alice could make out nothing but a blur of dazzling light. The
hand-car soon slowed down, however, and she saw that they were
approaching a neat little station at the end of a long dock, which
ran out into the ocean. The waves were running very high, al-
though the sun was shining brightly, and the tiny station, which
was built entirely of ice-blocks, was dripping with sparkling spray
from the breakers.
The name of the station—"ICEBERG”—was lettered on a
board which hung from the icicle-fringed eaves.
Alice felt much relieved when the hand-car came to a gentle
stop at the station platform, for she had noticed that the track just
beyond simply ran off the end of the dock and down into the water.
She alighted hastily and then remembering the Candlestick-maker-
whom she had entirely forgotten in the excitement of the last few
minutes—she turned to help him off. He had vanished, leaving
only his curious hat behind!
Alice now saw that the hat was, in fact, simply an average
sized brass candlestick of this sort. .
Saying to herself, “I'll just keep this as a me-
mento,” she picked it up and was just starting for
the door of the station when a bell jangled loudly
and a voice cried, "All aboard!” and the hand-car,
starting with a jerk, ran down the few remaining
yards of track into the sea and disappeared.
“Well, of all the strange railroads,” Alice began, but just then
she caught sight of a very white face with large coal black eyes, a
pointed red nose, and a scrubby stiff goatee: it was staring at her
from a small window in the station.
For a moment Alice was really frightened at this strange ap-
Will
( 101 )


ICEBERG
parition, but it suddenly occured to her that of course this was only
a Snowman and that the carroty red nose was a carrot, the black
eyes lumps of coal and the goatee a worn-out paint brush. “And
he really has a very kindly expression in spite of his unusual fea-
tures,” thought the little girl.
FIRST-CLASS
It somehow did not surprise her much
now to hear him ask pleasantly, “Any bag-
gage, Miss?” his paint-brush goatee wagging
stiffly as he spoke.
"Nothing but this,” answered Alice,
holding up the candlestick and noting as
she did so that the candle was again burning.
The sight of the candle apparently
made the Snowman quite nervous, for he
n. P said rather shakily, “You might just blow
that out, Miss, if you don't mind; I can't
abide a flame of any sort, not since my brother almost died of a bonfire.”
Alice blew out the candle and the Snowman, who seemed great-
ly relieved, continued politely, “Just leave your bundle in the
baggage room if you like.” He pointed with a very short fat arm
to a large clumsily wrapped package, which Alice had certainly not
seen before, standing just beside her on the platform. She was
about to tell the station agent (for that was what the Snowman
evidently was) that it did not belong to her, when she noticed tied
to the bundle a large tag upon which was printed in bold letters-
YOURS.
“But,” said Alice to herself, but half aloud-really hoping
that the interesting package might prove to belong to her- "How
do I know that the tag doesn't mean that it belongs to the Snow-
man?”
The Snowman heard her question. "Why, Miss,” he said slow-
ly, like a good natured teacher patiently explaining something to a
stupid child, "you see if it were mine, it would be marked MINE,

[102]


ICEBERG

but as it isn't marked MINE why then of course
it isn't mine: but, if, on the other hand, it were
yours, Miss, then it would be marked YOURS,
and as it is marked YOURS, why then of course
it is yours and not mine. Or, to put it another
way," he went on triumphantly, after taking
a breath, "if it were not yours—" (here he
stopped, for Alice was no longer listening, but
was already unwrapping the bundle, for, like most of us, she was
always easily convinced of what she wanted to believe).
First came several layers of newspapers—most of them the
"Gloster Gazette" and the "Norrich News"—then straw tied round
and round with heavy cord like the winter covering for a rose bush;
next came a ragged old quilt decorated with a design of cabbage-
like scarlet flowers. As the air was now very chilly in spite of the
bright sunshine, Alice stopped to drape this quilt about her shoul-
ders like a sort of cape. She then removed the remaining wrappings
from the bundle, consisting of a fish net and several more news-
papers (these being mostly "Bunbury Bugles").
"Well of all pre-pos-terous things!" exclaimed Alice as she
finally pulled off the last of the papers; for, after all her trouble in
undoing the great package, its contents proved to be only a rickety
old, bottomless bird cage upon the little padlocked door of which
hung a card bearing the words, "GONE FOR THE DAY."
The Snowman, his head and shoulders craned
as far as possible out of the station window, had
been watching with great interest the unwrapping
of the mysterious bundle, and he now exclaimed
with a chuckle which nearly dislodged his paint-
brush goatee: "Very interesting luggage, Miss, and
also very instructive." "However," he added more
seriously, "you might just hang it on that hook
by the door there. (Alice was about to throw the

103


ICEBERG
battered cage into the sea.) You never can tell when that sort of
thing will come in handy, Miss.”
"You might be able to use that card on it some day when you go
off for a vacation,” suggested Alice, smiling in spite of her disap-
pointment at the idea of a bottomless bird cage like this one ever
“coming in handy.”
“I'm afraid I'll never be going on a vacation, Miss,” said the
Snowman sadly. “You see, whoever it was made me, he didn't give
me any legs to speak of; though I don't complain, as very few
snowmen has 'em, and furthermore, Miss, it saves me lots of steps.
I'm what you might call,” he went on more brightly, "a stationary
station agent, or perhaps—"
At this juncture Alice heard a sound of joyful squeaking and
shrill cheering at the end of the dock and, turning, saw that the
hand-car had emerged from the water and was coming back toward
the station. It was swarming with the Sailor Rats, who were wav-
ing their dripping caps and generally behaving like a crowd of school
boys off for a vacation.
The car did not stop at the station but kept on at steadily in-
creasing speed, and the shrill cries soon died away in the distance.
“Those must be the Sailors from the "Summersault Sally,”
exclaimed Alice, remembering the dissolving magic lantern v
she had seen in the tunnel; "and the others must be close behind,
I'm sure. Rats are always the first to leave a sinking ship, at
least so the Poet said.”
"It's just as well those sailors didn't stop off here,” said the
Snowman decidedly; "they're always a rough, noisy lot, Miss, and
like as not they'd have stolen the station sign and —”.
“Why, here are the others, now!” cried Alice. While the Snow-
man was speaking she had spied four familiar heads on the crest of
an oncoming wave. The wave broke, depositing the Poet, Captain
Tee Wee, the Cook and the Milkman in a neat row at the extreme
end of the dock.
( 104 )


9 ICEBERG *
The Milkman, after looking sadly about in a bewildered way
for a moment or two—apparently but half awakened by the slight
shock of landing—settled back against a convenient post, closed
his melancholy eyes and started snoring at once.
The others rose unconcernedly to their feet and shook them-
selves like three water spaniels, and Alice now heard the Cook, who
seemed to be continuing an interrupted conversation, remark:
"—and what I says is, it's good riddance to 'em! If them two lubbers
an' that old shell-back wanted to sail with that tow 'eaded softy,
Captain Shafto, why shouldn't they, Isays, an' werry good, too."
"Right you are, matey!" roared Captain Tee Wee so heartily
that several icicles fell jingling from the station eaves.
The Poet, who had just caught sight of Alice, showed no sur-
prise whatever; he merely smiled pleasantly as if he had naturally
expected her to be there, and remarked casually, jerking his thumb
at his companions, "They refer to the Butcher, the Baker and Turtle,
who were taken aboard the 'Meandering Myrtle'."
"But I don't remember seeing a turtle aboard the 'Summersault
Sally,' " said Alice. "Where did he come from?"
"The waves they ran so high, you see, our ship turned turtle.
Pardon me if I now leave you for a while to give my new disguise
a trial." Thus saying, the Poet stepped into the little station, from
the door of which, after but a few moments,
hopped a very large, black and white
penguin.
Startled by this sudden transformation,
Alice took a step backward and, tripping
over the trailing end of the bed quilt which
she had wrapped about her, fell flat.
The penguin helped her up clumsily,
remarking as he did so, "There's no need
to feel such a shock of alarm: I'm only the
Poet who'll do you no harm."

11051


ICEBERG
wers
When Alice got to her feet again the Snowman, Captain Tee
Wee, the Cook and the sleeping Milkman were gone—though she
was quite sure she still heard muffled snoring. The station itself
had disappeared, too, and she and the ridiculously disguised Poet
were standing on what seemed at first to be the flat, icy roof of a
high tower of some sort. The end of a ladder (“It looks just like
the railroad track stood up on end,” thought Alice) showed above
a low parapet which bordered the roof.
The snoring soon changed to a sound like that of surf far below
them, and peering over the parapet Alice saw, to her astonishment
and dismay, that they were on the very highest pinnacle of a tre-
mendous iceberg!
Owing to a heavy fog which surrounded the base of the iceberg,
it was impossible to see where the ladder led to. “It probably rests
on the bottom of the sea, and I'm sure I should never dare to climb
down anyway,” thought Alice miserably, adding half aloud: “Oh,
dear, I wish I had never come.” Then it occurred to her that she
had had nothing to do with coming: in fact she had not come at all.
This was a very confusing thought. She felt, though, that the Poet
was somehow or other to blame for their
predicament; so, turning to him, she said
piteously, "Whatever shall we do?"
Patting her shoulder with one of his
ridiculous Aipper-like wings, the Poet an-
swered reassuringly: "Don't fret yourself,
be calm, my dear; I'm really rather glad
we're here. An iceberg's safe—if gales don't
rise-and how it suits my new disguise!
Still if you're feeling timid,—well, you just
might try your fire-bell.”
“My fire-bell? I haven't any fire-bell and you know it,” said
Alice crossly; for she felt that the Poet had chosen a very poor time
for teasing her.

NU
(106)


ICEBERG
"Then what's that hanging from a chain about your neck? A
bell, it's plain,” retorted the Poet rather impatiently.
Alice looked and saw that there was a tiny bell, about the size
of a thimble, hanging from a very fine chain about her neck, though
how it got there she couldn't possibly imagine. “If that's a fire-bell
it must be a very young one,” she said, smiling, and her satisfaction
at having made this amusing conjecture quite restored her usual
good humor. Curious to see what sort of a tinkle such a diminutive
bell would make, Alice gently shook the chain. Instantly a deafening,
crashing clangor filled the air, frightening the poor child nearly out
of her senses. She hastily dropped the little bell, and, after one
last tremendous, echoing peal, the ringing stopped.
The Poet, who seemed to be shaking under his disguise with
suppressed laughter, now remarked very gravely: "Well, what a
voice for one so young, I thought at first ‘Big Ben' had rung!” And,
after a moment's pause, he added: “The Fireman should soon be
here to rescue you,-but look, my dear; a snow storm's starting.
Really though it looks to me like paper snow!"
And sure enough, the air was soon full of little curled-up strips
of paper such as come inside of "snapper mottoes.”
“Oh,” cried Alice excitedly, “I do hope they have proverbs on
them, it will be such fun!” She picked up several of the paper
snowflakes and, straightening one out, found the following rather
disappointing line printed in small red letters:
THE PENGUIN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD-FISH.
She handed it to the Poet, saying doubtfully, "Perhaps this
one was meant especially for you;” then half to herself, “it sounds
familiar, but that isn't quite the usual wording, I'm sure.”
The Poet took the slip and after reading it aloud several times
very thoughtfully and slowly, he said with great complacency: “A
very proper proverb that, and how 'twill irritate Old Spratt,-he
takes the Sword-fish part, you see—you're Aunt Crusader,-as for me
perhaps you know, my dear, that I'm the Hero in the Pantomime.”
(107]


ICEBERG
SO
Alice recollected that the Candlestick-maker had said some-
thing about being late to a rehearsal of some sort and she wondered
if it were this Pantomime that he had referred to. She was too much
interested in the snowflake mottoes, however, to ask about it just
then. Unrolling another of the slips, she read aloud: "HONEY
MAKES THE HAIR GROW.” “Of course, that's just nonsense,”
she said impatiently; “though, come to think, I have heard a proverb
something like it—'Money makes the mare go,' I believe it was.”
“Well,” said her companion judicially, “perhaps that other,
too, is true, although the wording's tricky; for honey in the comb,
you know, would make the hair grow-sticky!”
"Perhaps you can tell what this one means, too,” said Alice,
smiling, at the ingenious explanation of the other: “DON'T COUNT
YOUR CHICKENS BEFORE YOU PUT ALL YOUR EGGS IN
ONE BASKET.”
After a moment's reflection, the Poet replied: "In counting
chickens, don't you see, there's apt to be some slip—that is, if on
arithmetic you've not the firmest grip. And if you slip why, like as
not, upon your eggs you fall, and if those eggs are in one lot, it's
plain you'll break them all!”
Alice was growing very much interested in this game of explana-
tions. “It's my turn,” she now exclaimed, “and here's one that I
can almost understand myself; it says,
'IT'S NEVER TOO STRAIGHT TO
BEND,' and I daresay that means "
She was interrupted by the sudden ap-
pearance of a head and shoulders above
the edge of the parapet and the next
moment a stocky fellow, unmistakably
a fireman, stepped from the ladder and
stood before them, panting. His shirt
was the brightest crimson Alice had ever
seen and he wore a big tin fire-hat, the

( 108 )


ICEBERG
man
brim of which extended like a wide shovel at the back. Hanging
from his belt were a small pick-axe, a brass fire-trumpet and a
leather bucket about half full of water.
“Two of 'em to save," the Fireman muttered complainingly
when he had recovered his breath, “TWO of 'em—and me on a
holiday!” Then taking the buck-
et from his belt in a business-like
way, he dashed the water over
the Poet, saying mournfully as
he did so, “and not even enough
water for one.”
“I'm glad of that,” thought
Alice, “though the Poet doesn't
seem to much mind being
soaked.”
The Poet, who apparently
Si TR
had hardly noticed the unexpec-
ted bath, was saying cheerfully, “Don't bother about me; I'll flap
down to the ground. Help her, old chap."
Then, holding up the bottomless bird cage, he went on, “My
helmet for the Pantomime; so glad I thought of it in time.”
"He certainly didn't have that cage a moment ago," thought
Alice confusedly. “I didn't know that old thing was yours," she
started to say, but the Poet, in his awkward penguin disguise, had
hopped to the parapet, and now, after a few preliminary flappings
of his unwieldy wings, flew heavily away. He had left the bird cage
behind and the Fireman, picking it up, hurled it after him with a
loud shout of "Heads below!" Then turning to Alice, who half
feared that she was about to be thrown after the cage, he said politely
enough, but in a rather bored voice, which plainly showed that he
did not enjoy working like this while on a holiday, “Well, Miss,
what'll it be for you, ladder or life net?”
Now Alice did not like the idea of either method of descent,

(109)


ICEBERG
but she felt at least she was somewhat familiar with ladders while
she had never even seen a life net. "And that ladder,” she reasoned,
"must lead to somewhere, after all, for the Fireman came up that
way.” So she finally answered rather doubtfully, “I think I prefer
the ladder, if you don't mind."
“Did you say the ladder or the latter, Miss?” inquired the
Fireman, who had been busy readjusting the things on his belt.
“Though come to think,” he added, “It doesn't really make much
difference, as there ain't any life net, Miss.”
He jammed his hat down, gave a last twitch to his belt and
exclaimed, with more animation than Alice had seen him exhibit,
"Well, Miss, ladder it is then!" And the next moment Alice found
to her surprise that she was enjoying the very agreeable sensation
of sliding, at a pleasurable speed, down a smooth, straight bannister.
In a strangely silent mist all about her, the paper snow was still
falling. *
Snow W
Va
(110)


CHAPTER XI
The Skating Party





THE SKATING PARTY
blue rosette from which hung a long end of ribbon bearing the
word WINNER, exclaiming with a good deal of Aourish, as he
did so: “We compliment you, ma’am, on your most commendable
performance and well-earned victory!”
The cheering, which had been hushed during the Old Man's
little presentation speech, now broke out afresh and Alice, who had
stood grinning sheepishly while the Old Man pinned on the rosette,
could not help finally laughing outright at the absurdity of the whole
situation; for, to cap the climax, the Poet, in his clumsy penguin
disguise, had appeared hopping heavily toward them, rolling the
rickety, clattering bird cage ahead of him across the ice.
As Alice stood watching his approach and laughing uncontrol-
lably, a voice, which she recognized as Captain Tee Wee's, boomed
out, “All entries for the second race this way!" No one seemed to
pay the slightest attention, however, either to this announcement
or to the approaching penguin, for the Fireman, whom Alice now
noticed for the first time, had started a bonfire on the ice, a short
distance away, and the crowd was hastening in that direction. A
little bent old woman with an old fashioned “witch-
broom” was industriously sweeping up the paper
snowflakes that had fallen on the ice (it was a pile
of these that the Fireman had lighted).
When Alice approached he stopped his work of -
tending fire and said in a rather apologetic way, as c
though he felt that he had been caught at a very
childish pastime, “It's a real change, as you can se
easy understand, Miss, this lighting fires — me being
on a vacation — for other times I'm mostly busy a-puttin' of 'em
out; besides which I've arranged this here fire so's the smoke's all
a-blowin' his way, in hopes to wake him up.”
Here the Fireman pointed to a little wooden bench nearby.
Upon this bench Alice was somehow not at all surprised to see the
Milkman stretched out, still snoring loudly.

(115)


THE SKATING PARTY
ne W
“We've done about everything else, Miss,” went on the Fireman
in a discouraged voice, “but it's amazin' how sound like milkmen
does sleep in the daytime.”
While the Fireman was speaking, Alice had observed a large
red cow-evidently a new arrival-skating toward them in a lei-
surely way. She was a raw-boned, powerful animal, with skates
on all four of her feet and even an extra one fastened on near the
end of her frowsy tail! (“I can't see what use that one is to her,”
thought Alice.) Apparently unconscious of the fact that she skated
in an awkward, sprawling manner, the cow wore an air of haughty
superiority.
Just as Alice was about to call the Fireman's attention to this
ridiculous creature, she felt a nudge, and turning, saw that the
Captain and the Cook had joined them.
“Souse my tarry pigtail if there ain't old Moolygeezer, the
Milkman's crazy cow!” exclaimed the Captain in what he perhaps
intended for a whispering voice.
“An' prouder-like than ever since the Poet wrote them verses
about her jumpin' over the moon,” put in the Cook, who seemed to
be having a difficult time adjusting his skates, which were, as a
matter of fact, not really skates, but long soup ladles.
Moolygeezer, who was now laboriously attempting a "figure-
eight,” evidently overheard the Captain's uncomplimentary "stage
whisper,” for she tossed her head contemptuously. In so doing she
lost her precarious balance and fell to the ice with a crash, her cow-
bell, which heretofore had only tinkled, now jangling loudly as she
nt down directly in front of the bench on which lay her sleeping
master. Roused by the sound of the cowbell the Milkman sat up
jerkily, and after looking wildly about in a sleep-dazed way for a
moment or two, he spied the cow who was just getting angrily to her
feet again amid general laughter and jeering. With a hoarse cry of
“I've got you now, you old moon-jumper!” the Milkman made a
desperate lunge for the cow's tail, but missed it, falling on the ice.
(116)


THE SKATING PARTY
Though evidently greatly hampered by her skates, Mooly-
geezer started off with a series of great galloping leaps, and the most
ridiculous chase that Alice had ever taken part in began.
By the time the crowd of strangely assorted skaters had gotten
their wits together sufficiently to start after her, the ungainly creature

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was crashing along over the ice at an amazing rate of speed, now
running on all fours, and now coasting, as it were, on her hind legs,
using her tail when she did this as a sort of rudder.
Most of the pursuers, in their frenzied efforts to get started
quickly, had fallen down like the Milkman, whom Alice heard
muttering wistfully, as he picked himself up and started after the
others, “It's werry disappointing, werry.”
Not wishing to be left alone, and quite interested, besides, to
see how the chase would end, Alice ran along after the noisy crowd.
The Old-Man-dressed-all-in-Leather, notwithstanding his curi-
ously attached single skate, led the pursuit by a good distance.
(“Perhaps it's because, skating on his back in the way he does, he
can't very well fall down,” said Alice to herself.) Next came the
Clown, who was going along very smoothly and gracefully on his
hands, fanning himself industriously all the while with a large palm-
leaf fan which he held somehow with one of his feet. Behind him
(117)


THE SKATING PARTY
came the Captain, fairly bellowing with delirious enjoyment of the
chase; then the Cook on his soup-ladle skates, and the Poet (he
was now wearing his bird-cage helmet instead of rolling it) clumsily
hopping and flying by turns. Close behind the Poet came the
Fireman, shouting a confusion of orders through his brass trumpet.
Strung along after this leading group were many others, some
of whom Alice did not remember having seen on the ice before,
but who all looked vaguely familiar; one of these last was a round-
faced little man carrying a hammer and saw and a number of other
tools. He seemed to be skating with the greatest difficulty and
was going very slowly. Alice was not surprised at this when she
saw that his skates were made entirely of wood. She also saw a
large black "J" painted on the back of his coat, and, remembering
the line "J was a joiner," decided that this must be he.
The poor fellow finally stopped, removed his wooden skates
and was examining them in a disappointed way when Alice caught
up. (She was now very much out of breath and had slowed down
to a fast walk.)
Upon seeing her, the Joiner politely raised his little square
topped white hat, saying in a very gentlemanly way as he fell into
step, "May I be permitted to join this little party?
"You see joining is my trade," he added, as if to explain any
seeming boldness in making his request.
"Of course you may; but I'm quite alone," replied Alice, rather
puzzled by his reference to the "little party," "or, at least, I was
alone a second ago," she added doubtfully, looking behind her as
though half expecting to see several hitherto unnoticed companions.
"Why, I should call you rather a little party," explained the
Joiner. "That is," he went on hastily, as though fearing that Alice
might not have liked this way of putting it, "you're not so very
large, you know."
"Oh, I see, it was a sort of joke," said Alice, smiling.
"Well," answered her companion thoughtfully, "perhaps it
[118]



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THE SKATING PARTY
was. But these are no joke at any rate." He held up the wooden
skates which he was now carrying in his hand.
"They didn'tseem to slide along very easily," said Alice, feeling
that some sympathetic remark was expected of her.
"And I spent days and days selecting the very slipperiest kind
of slippery-elm to make them of," said the other with a regretful
sigh. "Have some, do," he added sadly, handing one of the skates
to Alice and starting to chew on the other in an absent sort of way.
As the Joiner ceased speaking, Alice's ears caught a sound quite
different from that of the noisy pursuit, which was now almost
out of earshot. It was the ominous soughing of an approaching
wind storm which seemed to be coming up behind them. She
looked over her shoulder and was really terrified at the threatening
look of an oncoming bank of darkness which seemed about to
overtake and envelop them.
"Oh, dear! Whatever shall we do?" cried the poor child
piteously, turning to the Joiner. He was gone! * *
Alice had no time to soliloquize on his sudden disappearance,
for the fast rising wind soon began to blow her along at constantly
increasing speed, and, when she glanced once more behind her, the
bank of darkness had taken on much the look of an onrushing crowd
of screaming, black giants, and moreover, great cracks were appearing
in the ice on all sides.
"If only there was something to hold on to," groaned Alice who
was now fairly flying along. And as if in cruel answer to her wish,
there suddenly appeared, sticking up out of one of the cracks just
ahead of her a pole bearing a signboard lettered, DANGER!
In a moment she would be upon it! * * As Alice stretched out
her hands to ward off the pole, the ice which had been getting very
wobbly gave way beneath her with a curious, tinkling crash like the
breaking of thin glass—and all was darkness. • • *
The next thing she knew, the astonished child found herself
sitting up unhurt on the damp floor of a large greenhouse.
[119 J


i


CHAPTER XII
Strange Growths and
a Stupid Snail


JR.

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“She carefully picked one of the bowl blossoms"
(page 123)





STRANGE GROWTHS AND A STUPID SNAIL
JR
handle of his umbrella, which was bright green
like those standing beyond the moat.
Alice, who had by this time come to within
a few rods of the palace, was about to call out
to the Doctor, when without any warning the
path she was on started, with sudden violence,
to swing from side to side-like a hammock that
has been given an unexpected jerk — and
almost before she realized what was happening
the poor child found herself sliding off into
the slimy water, which luckily was only up to her knees at this point.
The path stopped swaying almost immediately and Alice
scrambled back onto it and ran the remaining distance to the
castle door, feeling somehow very angry and foolish at the same
time.
The Doctor, who, in spite of his pounding and shouting, had
heard the commotion of Alice's mishap, had dropped his umbrella
and was already opening his little black medicine satchel when she
arrived, panting. (She was much surprised to find that she still
held the pipe and bowl; the contents of the bowl had changed
mysteriously to what looked like cider in which a small crab was
swimming about.)
“Just what happened to me a few minutes ago—just what
happened to me, and a poor sort of joke,
too, I say,” the Doctor remarked without
looking up. “Now where did l-ah, here
annuum
it is!” he added, taking from his satchel
a small blue bottle labeled,
ng pananalitat
“FOR WET FEET.” And
before Alice had time to pro-
test he clapped it to her lips
and emptied the entire con- cuiune
Chili
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(125]


f
STRANGE GROWTHS AND A STUPID SNAIL
putting the empty bottle back in his satchel he turned again to the
door, only pausing for a moment to say very seriously, "You know,
my child, there's nothing so dangerous as wet feet,—nothing so
dangerous. Why, I once knew a centipede—" But here he resumed
his battering at the door panels and the rest of the centipede story
was drowned out by the din.
The medicine had apparently started to do its work immediately,
for already Alice felt a very decided sensation of warmth in her feet,
and a thick cloud of steam had begun to rise from them. This
steaming continued violently for about half a minute, and when it
stopped she found that her shoes and stockings were perfectly dry.
By this time the Doctor had broken his umbrella and was sitting
in a discouraged way on the doorstep, absently swal-
lowing, two or three at a time, some large red capsules
from a box labeled "PARR'S PATIENCE PILLS—
Take one every 24 hours."
Alice was about to remind him that he was taking
what seemed to her entirely too many of these, when
the door opened inward and the Doctor, who had
been resting his back against it, fell back sprawling,
colliding as he did so with an enormous snail—
about four feet tall—which wore, in addition to the
usual shell, a rather jaunty little red hat, with
DOORMAN lettered upon it.
Through the open door Alice, to her astonish-
ment looked, not into a dark hallway or a room,
as she had expected to, but into what seemed to be
a kind of formal garden, at the far end of which,
behind a hedge of huge sunshades, she could now
hear the sound of many voices. The castle, in fact,
consisted of only one wall and was not much more
substantial than a piece of scenery.
The strange doorman, with scarcely a glance at

[1261


STRANGE GROWTHS AND A STUPID SNAIL

Alice or the sprawling Doctor, very deliberately picked up three or
four of the pills, which had scattered in all directions, and began
munching them with a sort of dreamy satisfaction.
The Doctor, who had risen to his feet, waited with great patience
until the Snail had entirely satisfied his appetite for the pills and
then said very meekly: "You will pardon my knocking, I feel sure—
you see, I have an appointment with the King; but really you
needn't have hurried so, my man."
The surprised Alice wondered whether the Doctor's suddenly
acquired docility of manner was due to the great number of PARR'S
PATIENCE PILLS he had eaten or to the rather threatening
appearance of the Snail's long horns.
Without giving any evidence that he had even heard the Doc-
tor's humble remarks, the Snail laboriously took from the lining of
his hat a small, fat, leather-covered book entitled, "DOOR RULES,
VOL. VII," and began thumbing over the pages. While he was
doing this, Alice noticed that on the wall near the door hung a
placard which read, "COURT JESTERS WANTED: APPLY
BETWEEN 12 and 12, K. C."
At the end of a full minute the Snail cleared his throat and,
with an air of solemn importance, read: "RULE 149. No one is
allowed to pass in unless he leaves his umbrella at the door." He
then languidly motioned to the Doctor to drop his umbrella and
11271


STRANGE GROWTHS AND A STUPID SNAIL
enter, and drew back very deliberately to allow him to pass; but
when Alice started to follow, the Snail, to her surprise, refused to
let her pass.
"Orders is orders, Miss," he said in a stupid voice, and then
recited very slowly the rule he had just read.
“But I haven't any umbrella,"exclaimed Alice, much annoyed at
all this delay. (“Though as I don't know where I'm going,” she
told herself, “I don't suppose there's really any great hurry about
getting there!)
“Then you'll have to go back and get one, Miss,” said the Snail
stubbornly, repeating for the third time, “No one is allowed to pass
in unless he leaves his umbrella at the door.” “And even if she had
one to leave,” he added reflectively, speaking aloud, but to himself,
“it wouldn't be his umbrella, it would be her umbrella.”
This, to the Snail's way of thinking, seemed to settle the matter,
for he turned without another word and started to close the door.
He did this so slowly, however, that Alice had time to reflect—"I
can slip by him while his back is turned, and, being a snail, he'll
never be able to catch me.” Suiting the action to the thought, she
dodged noiselessly past him and ran. * *
(128)


KING cole's COURT
When the uproarious excitement was at its height, King Cole,
who had just had his crown knocked awry by a collision with the
giantess Pansy, suddenly held up his hand to command order and
silence and, when he could get his breath, shouted, in a voice that
might easily have been heard a mile away, “REFRESHMENTS!”
At this there was a loud outburst of cheering and hand-clapping
and cries of “Long Live King Cole!” in every key. After which
most of the tennis players started immediately and noisily to suck
the oranges with which they had been playing.
King Cole now turned and started to walk back to the throne,
shouting over his shoulder as he went, “We declare the game a tie!”
and adding in an aside to a large grey goose who was standing near
him, “Our games are always ties—everybody happy then, and no
unpleasantness.”
“I suppose,” thought Alice, “now that the game is over the
King will notice me, and perhaps I'll be put out.” It had suddenly
occurred to her that she had not been invited to this tennis party,
and furthermore that the Snail Doorman, despite his slowness,
might be expected back almost any time now with a report of her
breaking of the umbrella rule. She felt rather relieved, therefore,
when King Cole, catching sight of her standing near the throne,
showed no surprise, but smiled beamingly upon her and beckoned
for her to approach.
"Just what we needed, my dear, just what we needed!” he ex-
claimed, joyfully rubbing his hands together; and taking the bowl
and pipe which Alice had almost forgotten she was holding-he
settled himself upon the throne with a deep sigh of happiness; then,
motioning Alice to a place near him on the edge of the little circular
dais upon which the throne stood, King Cole cried jovially, “Every-
body be seated!”
Alice saw with surprise that the Soldiers alone disregarded this
royal command and remained standing stolidly in line as before,
and she felt that here was a good opportunity to begin a conversa-
(133]


$ KING COLE S COURT
tion—a friendly chat with a King would be something she could
boast about a little, afterward—so she asked in her very politest
manner: "Please, Your Majesty, why don't the Soldiers sit down
like the rest?"
The King had broken off a long piece of the pipe stem and
through this he was contentedly sucking up the contents of the bowl.

&&&A&AAi&
wWwWWmm
Upon hearing Alice's question, he removed the pipe stem from
his lips to say with a chuckle, "Oh, it's all right about them, my dear.
You see, that's our standing army and naturally, a standing army
can'tsit down."
Most of the guests must have been familiar with this little
joke of King Cole's, for many of them had started to laugh extrava-
gantly as soon as Alice asked her question. This seemed to encourage
the King, who waited until the applause had ceased and then con-
tinued complacently: "We suppose you've noticed, my dear, that
our Soldiers are all armed with bellows? (A rather clever idea of
our own, that.) Perhaps you can guess the reason, eh?" Then,
without waiting more than a second or two for an answer from
poor Alice—who was beginning to feel uncomfortably conspicuous
and extremely stupid—the King said triumphantly: "It's so that
without the expense of ammunition they can always return blow
for blow."
At this, the Soldiers all suddenly raised their pairs of bellows
and squeezed them in perfect unison, with a most surprising result!
[1341


KING COLE'S COURT
admirer of mine-deaf he was—and never even-” Here the
Queen took another prodigious bite of bread and honey, and though
she kept right on talking, her mouth was so full that for a time one
could only catch an almost unintelligible word now and then.
Alice soon gathered from gestures, however, that the Queen
had changed the subject, and was now expressing extravagant
admiration for the ridiculous, ragged old quilt which Alice still
wore.
“I really don't need the quilt any longer, now that it has grown
so much warmer,” thought Alice, “and besides, Her Majesty
really does need a large napkin of some sort.” So she removed the
gaudy covering, and was quite surprised to hear herself saying, “I
beg of you to accept this trifling gift, for what Your Majesty
admires is yours.”
She vaguely remembered having read these words somewhere,
but they seemed to fit the situation perfectly.
The Queen seemed quite overcome with astonished gratitude,
for her jaws even stopped working and she stared at the quilt as
though doubtful whether the offer of so rich a gift were meant
seriously. Then suddenly-regardless of the bread and honey,
with which both her hands and her mouth were now full—she threw
her short arms about Alice and kissed her heartily on both cheeks!
"That's a great honor for you, my dear child, a great honor!”
chuckled the King; then with another of his elaborate winks, added:
“I suppose you'll be very much stuck up for a while.” Then finishing
his refreshment with a loud smacking of lips and a tremendous sigh
of satisfaction, the rotund Monarch hurled the empty bowl over
the hedge, and then placing his fore-fingers against
his teeth he whistled ear-splittingly. (“Just the way
our baker's boy does it,” thought Alice.)
The King's whistle was apparently a signal,
or immediately the cat-attendants appeared at
the entrance to the court, dragging a small wheeled

[136]



TIT,
TA
BAD COOL
JR
“Just then there was a sort of musical explosion”
(page 137)





KING COLE 8 COURT $
platform upon which stood a huge, gayly painted band-box at least
six feet in diameter. The attendants stopped in front of the throne
and the crowd of guests threw away their oranges and formed an ex-
pectant semi-circular group behind the platform. "Now," exclaim-
ed the King, rubbing his hands in joyful anticipation, "We'll have
some music."
"His Majesty dotes on good music," the Queen remarked to
Alice, "though it usually puts him to sleep—that is, when the band
plays loud enough, and this one always does—except—"
"But where are the musicians?" Alice interrupted, puzzled;
"I'm sure I don't see any band."
"Why, the band's in the band-box, silly," chuckled King Cole,
who had overheard her query, "where a band should be. Now, if
you'll listen"
Just then there was a sort of "musical explosion," as Alice
expressed it afterward, and the cover of the band-box flew off and
went skimming over the hedge. Standing in the box, with only
their heads and shoulders visible, were the famous "Fiddlers Three"
and the Piper and his son Tom; and seated on the Piper's shoulder
was none other than Alice's old friend, the Candlestick-maker,
with his drum.
Each one of these zealous musicians seemed to be trying desper-
ately to drown out the other five, and the Candlestick-maker,
having the noisiest instrument, was almost succeeding in doing this.
Alice soon recognized the tune (though they were playing it
at about twice its usual speed) as "Over the Hills and Far Away."
In response to the enthusiastic applause of the audience, the band
kept repeating this one air over and over in a very monotonous
fashion, the only variation being that at each repetition they went a
little faster.
"I suppose," thought Alice, "the reason is that it's the only
tune the Piper's son can play, and probably King Cole doesn't
mind anyhow as long as they make plenty of noise. Why, he's
[137]


* KING COLE S COURT
nodding already," she added. "I'm sure I never saw so many sleepy
heads as there are in this country."
And sure enough, as the Queen had predicted, the King, after
a minute or two of the noisy "music" was sleeping quite peacefully.
Upon the crowd of guests, however, it had a very different effect,
for they all began a very lively and curious kind of "square dance,"
the principal figure in which was like a combination of the games
of Ring-around-a-Rosy and Snap-the-Whip.
When the band, apparently exhausted by its efforts, finally
stopped playing, the Queen—who was always either eating or talking
—hastily gulped down the last of the supply of bread and honey
and turned to Alice. "While the musicians are resting between
selections," she said, pleasantly, "we usually play games; and as
you, my dear (here she unexpectedly kissed the poor child again
heartily), are the guest of honor today, we shall leave the choice
of the first game to you; although," she rattled on,"I should strongly
suggest 'Stage Coach.' That's a delightful game, my dear, and a
great favorite of mine. Such a lot of talking in it, too, you know."
"If you'd just as soon," ventured Alice, "I'd like to start—"
She was about to say that she would like to start with a game of
"Blindman's Buff." "Just imagine what fun it would be played
by this crowd," she had thought. The talkative Queen, however,
did not wait for the little girl to finish the sentence, but exclaimed
enthusiastically: "You'd like to start right now, of course, my dear.
Well, so we can and so we shall." Then, motioning the crowd to be
seated on a number of little blue three-legged stools, which the
attendants had just brought in and placed near the throne, she
announced: "This young lady has especially requested that we now
play 'Stage Coach,' which happens to be a game of which I, too,
am particularly fond."
As some of the younger readers of this tale may never have
played the amusing old-fashioned game of "Stage Coach," let me
explain it in a few words.
H38]


KING COLE S COURT
Before the game begins the "parts" are given out: that is, each
player is given the name of one of the characters in a story of an
adventurous stage coach trip. Excepting the leader—the one who
recites or reads the "story"—the players are all seated. Whenever
during the recitation of the adventures any one of the characters is
mentioned, the player having that "part" rises from his seat, turns
around twice and sits down again, the failure to do this calling for
a forfeit. Whenever the word "Stage Coach" is heard, all rise and
change seats, the "leader" trying in the general scramble to obtain
a seat for himself. If the leader succeeds in this, the player left
standing must go on with the story.
Alice took a seat among the others on one of the little stools
and the Queen gave out the "parts," her haphazard distribution
of these causing a great deal of merriment. To the gigantic Pansy,
for example, she gave the part of the "Little Dog" (a traditional
"Stage Coach" character) and to Jack Spratt
that of ponderous "Captain Swordfish;" while
Alice herself was old "Aunty Crusader," and
many of the others had parts equally inap-
propriate.
When all were ready, the Queen started
to read very rapidly from a dog-cared little
book which she had taken from a pocket in
her skirt, and the game began.
Alice happened to be
sitting between the tremen-
dous Pansy and the Old
Man of Bombay. This
proved to be rather an un-
fortunate thing for her, as
the Old Man, growing very
much excited as the game
progressed, puffed harder

11391


KING COLE S COURT $
and harder on his pipe, filling the air with such a dense cloud of curling
smoke that the little girl could only now and then catch a glimpse of the
Queen and the other players. The giantess occupied not only her own
stool but about two thirds of Alice's, most of the time, and this kept
the child terribly worried; for in the course of the story the "Little
Dog" was mentioned more often any of the other characters, and
Pansy was therefore continually having to get up, turn, and sit
down again. "And it's almost certain that sooner or later she'll
sit down right on top of poor little me," said Alice to herself; "and
if she ever does—" But just then the story reached the point where
Captain Swordfish said, "Where is the big cheese we brought along
for our lunch?" "I'm afraid," answered the Footman, "that the
Little Dog has eaten it, sir!" The giantess, who was doubtless
growing rather angry at having to get up so much oftener than
the others, reseated herself this time with a petulant flounce and
the little stool gave way beneath her weight! At the same instant,
as if to make the occurrence more dramatic, the music began again
with a long, rolling rub-a-dub-a-dub-dub from the drum, and the
Old Man of Bombay blew such a blinding cloud of smoke from his
pipe that for a few moments Alice could see nothing. * * * *
[1401


CHAPTER XIV
The Rehearsal of
* The Enchanted Cheese"





CHAPTER XIV
The REHEARSAL OF “The ENCHANTED Cheese"
2
The smoke had changed to a thick cloud of dust, and when
this cleared away somewhat, Alice saw that everything else had
changed remarkably, too.
She was now sitting in the midst of a curiously costumed, jostling
crowd on top of a lumbering stage coach. Though the people and
animals in this party were the same ones she had just been with at
King Cole's Court (except that Pansy had disappeared), Alice
observed that their clothes had changed strangely, all having now
a swollen, padded outlook which gave, even to the attenuated
Jack Spratt, a ridiculously puffy appearance. The little girl herself
felt as though her dress were stuffed out with pillows.
From beneath her, inside the coach, Alice could hear the band
playing discordantly; fortunately the sound was somewhat muffled.
“I suppose the windows are closed, and I'm very thankful for
that,” she remarked to Doctor Foster, who was sitting next her.
“And I'm also thankful that I'm not inside, even though it is so
crowded up here."
“It's these puffed up clothes everybody's wearing that makes
it so crowded,” replied the Doctor—(he was now about the shape
of a balloon, himself.) “You see, my child, the reason for these
full clothes is that this is to be a full dress rehearsal; but the stage
really ought to be bigger. Why, I once knew a man who got hemmed
in by a crowd and he's had a stitch in his side ever since!”
"Oh, then this must be the rehearsal the Candlestick-maker
spoke of,” began Alice, delighted at the prospect of “theatricals.”
“And, come to think of it, the Poet said something about,” Here
she was interrupted by the Poet himself, who rose in his seat and
began to shout: “Friends, fellow citizens: silence, please! We're
going to rehearse 'The Enchanted Cheese.'” (The Poet was still
dressed as a penguin, and his ridiculous bird cage “helmet" was set
[143]


KING COLE'S COURT
platform upon which stood a huge, gayly painted band-box at least
six feet in diameter. The attendants stopped in front of the throne
and the crowd of guests threw away their oranges and formed an ex-
pectant semi-circular group behind the platform. "Now," exclaim-
ed the King, rubbing his hands in joyful anticipation, "We'll have
some music."
"His Majesty dotes on good music," the Queen remarked to
Alice, "though it usually puts him to sleep—that is, when the band
plays loud enough, and this one always does—except—"
"But where are the musicians?" Alice interrupted, puzzled;
"I'm sure I don't see any band."
"Why, the band's in the band-box, silly," chuckled King Cole,
who had overheard her query, "where a band should be. Now, if
you'll listen"
Just then there was a sort of "musical explosion," as Alice
expressed it afterward, and the cover of the band-box flew off and
went skimming over the hedge. Standing in the box, with only
their heads and shoulders visible, were the famous "Fiddlers Three"
and the Piper and his son Tom; and seated on the Piper's shoulder
was none other than Alice's old friend, the Candlestick-maker,
with his drum.
Each one of these zealous musicians seemed to be trying desper-
ately to drown out the other five, and the Candlestick-maker,
having the noisiest instrument, was almost succeeding in doing this.
Alice soon recognized the tune (though they were playing it
at about twice its usual speed) as "Over the Hills and Far Away."
In response to the enthusiastic applause of the audience, the band
kept repeating this one air over and over in a very monotonous
fashion, the only variation being that at each repetition they went a
little faster.
"I suppose," thought Alice, "the reason is that it's the only
tune the Piper's son can play, and probably King Cole doesn't
mind anyhow as long as they make plenty ofnoise. Why, he's
HIT1


$ KING COLE S COURT
nodding already," she added. "I'm sure I never saw so many sleepy
heads as there are in this country."
And sure enough, as the Queen had predicted, the King, after
a minute or two of the noisy "music" was sleeping quite peacefully.
Upon the crowd of guests, however, it had a very different effect,
for they all began a very lively and curious kind of "square dance,"
the principal figure in which was like a combination of the games
of Ring-around-a-Rosy and Snap-the-Whip.
When the band, apparently exhausted by its efforts, finally
stopped playing, the Queen—who was always either eating or talking
—hastily gulped down the last of the supply of bread and honey
and turned to Alice. "While the musicians are resting between
selections," she said, pleasantly, "we usually play games; and as
you, my dear (here she unexpectedly kissed the poor child again
heartily), are the guest of honor today, we shall leave the choice
of the first game to you; although," she rattled on,"/ should strongly
suggest 'Stage Coach.' That's a delightful game, my dear, and a
great favorite of mine. Such a lot of talking in it, too, you know."
"If you'd just as soon," ventured Alice, "I'd like to start—"
She was about to say that she would like to start with a game of
"Blindman's Buff." "Just imagine what fun it would be played
by this crowd," she had thought. The talkative Queen, however,
did not wait for the little girl to finish the sentence, but exclaimed
enthusiastically: "You'd like to start right now, of course, my dear.
Well, so we can and so we shall." Then, motioning the crowd to be
seated on a number of little blue three-legged stools, which the
attendants had just brought in and placed near the throne, she
announced: "This young lady has especially requested that we now
play 'Stage Coach,' which happens to be a game of which I, too,
am particularly fond."
As some of the younger readers of this tale may never have
played the amusing old-fashioned game of "Stage Coach," let me
explain it in a few words.
[1381


KING COLE S COURT
Before the game begins the "parts" are given out: that is, each
player is given the name of one of the characters in a story of an
adventurous stage coach trip. Excepting the leader—the one who
recites or reads the "story"—the players are all seated. Whenever
during the recitation of the adventures any one of the characters is
mentioned, the player having that "part" rises from his seat, turns
around twice and sits down again, the failure to do this calling for
a forfeit. Whenever the word "Stage Coach" is heard, all rise and
change seats, the "leader" trying in the general scramble to obtain
a seat for himself. If the leader succeeds in this, the player left
standing must go on with the story.
Alice took a seat among the others on one of the little stools
and the Queen gave out the "parts," her haphazard distribution
of these causing a great deal of merriment. To the gigantic Pansy,
for example, she gave the part of the "Little Dog" (a traditional
"Stage Coach" character) and to Jack Spratt
that of ponderous "Captain Sword fish;" while
Alice herself was old "Aunty Crusader," and
many of the others had parts equally inap-
propriate.
When all were ready, the Queen started
to read very rapidly from a dog-carcd little
book which she had taken from a pocket in
her skirt, and the game began.
Alice happened to be
sitting between the tremen-
dous Pansy and the Old
Man of Bombay. This
proved to be rather an un-
fortunate thing for her, as
the Old Man, growing very
much excited as the game
progressed, puffed harder

[1391


CHAPTER XIV
The Rehearsal of
The Enchanted Cheese"





CHAPTER XIV
The Rehearsal of "The Enchanted Cheese"
The smoke had changed to a thick cloud of dust, and when
this cleared away somewhat, Alice saw that everything else had
changed remarkably, too.
She was now sitting in the midst of a curiously costumed, jostling
crowd on top of a lumbering stage coach. Though the people and
animals in this party were the same ones she had just been with at
King Cole's Court (except that Pansy had disappeared), Alice
observed that their clothes had changed strangely, all having now
a swollen, padded outlook which gave, even to the attenuated
Jack Spratt, a ridiculously puffy appearance. The little girl herself
felt as though her dress were stuffed out with pillows.
From beneath her, inside the coach, Alice could hear the band
playing discordantly; fortunately the sound was somewhat muffled.
"I suppose the windows are closed, and I'm very thankful for
that," she remarked to Doctor Foster, who was sitting next her.
"And I'm also thankful that I'm not inside, even though it is so
crowded up here."
"It's these puffed up clothes everybody's wearing that makes
it so crowded," replied the Doctor—(he was now about the shape
of a balloon, himself.) "You see, my child, the reason for these
full clothes is that this is to be a full dress rehearsal; but the stage
really ought to be bigger. Why, I once knew a man who got hemmed
in by a crowd and he's had a stitch in his side ever since!"
"Oh, then this must be the rehearsal the Candlestick-maker
spoke of," began Alice, delighted at the prospect of "theatricals."
"And, come to think of it, the Poet said something about—" Here
she was interrupted by the Poet himself, who rose in his seat and
began to shout: "Friends, fellow citizens: silence, please! We're
going to rehearse The Enchanted Cheese.'" (The Poet was still
dressed as a penguin, and his ridiculous bird cage "helmet" was set
IM31


THE REHEARSAL OF THE ENCHANTED CHEESE
at a rakish angle on his head.) "Curtain goes up on the opening
scene," he went on, "showing a grocery. Enter Queen."
At this juncture the stage coach, which had evidently just
then struck a very rough piece of road, began to bounce and bang
along so noisily that Alice, who was sitting on the back seat, could
catch only a few words now and then of what the Poet was saying.
Then, too, the dust became so thick that at times she could scarcely
see anything at all, so that afterwards the memory of the "rehearsal"

was always confused and unsatisfactory. She gathered, however,
from the parts of the first act that she did hear and see, that the
plot of the pantomime had to do principally with the chase of an
enchanted Stilton cheese, which had escaped from the Queen's
buttery. And this seemed to necessitate, on the part of the actors,
a great deal of tripping over each other's feet and falling down
and throwing things about.
"In the first place," said Alice, in telling her sister about it all
afterward, "there was a good deal of quarreling about who should
have the parts with the most eating in them, and when the "rehears-
[144]


# THE REHEARSAL OF "THE ENCHANTED CHEESE" I 
ing" finally started it was very much like the game of "Stage Coach"
we had just been playing at King Cole's Court, for as each different
character in the pantomime was mentioned by the Poet, the one
taking that part would jump up and go through all sorts of strange
antics; and the top of the stage was so crowded and we were rocking
so from side to side, that quite often some one
would be pushed off! Though I don't suppose
the fall could have hurt any of them much, as their
clothes were all padded out so."
After this sort of thing had been going on for
about ten minutes the coach began to slow down,
the noise of the band inside diminishing at the same
time. Soon both the stage coach and the music
stopped.
When the dust had settled, Alice, looking forward, was
astonished to see that there were no horses hitched to their strange
conveyance.
"It almost seems as though it must have been the music that
kept us going," said Alice aloud to herself, "for when the band
stopped the stage stopped."
The Doctor, who was now rummaging about in his little medicine
satchel, overheard this remark and said without looking up: "Of
course, a stage coach can't go without noise, silly. But this'lI soon
revive that band, I daresay," he added, "and then we can go on again."
As he said this, he pulled out of his satchel a small bottle labeled,
"EXCELO'S ELIXER FOR EXHAUSTED MUSICIANS."
He then climbed down the little steps on the side of the coach, opened
the door and stepped in.
Most of the actors had. by this time jumped down to the ground
and were peering anxiously in at the windows in a helpless sort of
way.
"If that medicine works as quickly as the stuff he gave me for
wet feet, we ought to be going again very shortly," said Alice to
[145]


CHAPTER XV
In the Studio and —





CHAPTER XV
In the Studio and —
* * And found herself floating through the air like a soap-
bubble. She struck lightly on the top of the tall hedge bordering
the road, bounced once or twice in a really delightful manner, then
drifted along and was finally carried by a gentle breeze, in through
the open window of a dear little thatched house that stood just
beyond the hedge.
Alice landed with scarcely a jolt, on a small table in the middle
of a room, which was very evidently an artist's studio; for stacked
against the walls were canvases of all sizes, and there were two or
three easels standing about. She was just going to jump down to
the floor and begin a tour of inspection, when from behind the largest
easel stepped a thin, pleasant-faced little gentleman in baggy,
paint-daubed corduroy clothes and an extremely long-ended necktie.
It was the Artist whom the Snipe had pointed out to her, at the very
start of all these adventures, as the maker of the wonderful pictures
in Mother Goose. ("How long ago that does seem, too," thought
Alice, rather wistfully.) The Artist carried a palette and a curious
assortment of brushes: there was a hair brush, a toothbrush and a
clothes brush, besides two or three of the sort that house painters
generally use. In thinking about this afterward, Alice decided
that it was really a very good idea on the part of the Artist. For
why not use a clothes brush for painting clothes, a hair brush for
hair, and so on?
"If it's a portrait you're after," said the Artist politely, "I'm
afraid you'll have to wait till next week; for as soon as I finish some
pictures I'm working on now for the Poet's new book of verses, I've
got to start right in on the scenery for that plaguey pantomime.
And the worst of that is, that the Queen has insisted that, in the
grocery scene, all the vegetables must be painted so well that they'll
be really eatable; and that's going to take a lot of time. But, by
[1491


IN THE STUDIO AND
the way, my child," he added, lowering his voice, "when you
came in did you happen to see anything of an old Wolf hanging
around outside the door?"
"Well, sir," answered Alice a little timidly, "I
didn't come in through the door, but through the
window. You see, I fell off the stage coach and—"
"I understand," interrupted the Artist, genially;
"you just dropped in, as one might say. And I see
you came down plump, too," he added with a smiling
glance at the child's strangely balloon-like clothes.
"You're a bit puffed up still, I daresay, about having
been on the stage. Though you needn't worry about
that," he added consolingly, "you'll soon be quite
your normal size again, I'm sure."
This seemed indeed to be so, for already her
dress had shrunk perceptibly, and Alice was begin-
ning to look more as usual. It still, however, gave
her rather a ridiculously blowsy appearance and
made her feel uncomfortably self-conscious, especially
in the presence of an Artist, so she hastened to change
the subject by asking, "Won't you please tell me
more about that Wolf you're expecting. Is he a
friend of yours?"
"I should say he isn't a friend of mine, child," whispered the
Artist, glancing apprehensively toward the door. "In fact, he's
my worst enemy. He's a bill collector, you see, and a most frightful
nuisance he is, too, always knocking at the door just when I'm
especially anxious not to be disturbed. But speaking of nuisances—
Here he chuckled; evidently reminded of something which gave him
great satisfaction—I must tell you about the crows. They used
to be a worse nuisance to my neighbor, the Farmer, than that old
Wolf is to me; but I've fixed them! Yesterday I painted a full
length portrait of John O'Gudgeon, the Wildman, and set it up out

[150]


IN THE STUDIO AND

**±i
w"S/jtftv>:Wr
Those thieving birds
there in the Farmer's field, as a scarecrow,
won't bother him again."
"But I saw some crows flying right by this window just a few
seconds ago," put in Alice. "I noticed them particularly, for each
one carried a little sack."
"That's just what I was coming to, my child," exclaimed the
Artist delightedly. "You see they were so fearfully frightened by
that scarecrow of mine that they're even bringing back the grain
they stole last summer."
"It must have been a wonderful scarecrow," said Alice, laughing.
This complimentary remark evidently pleased the Artist tremen-
dously, for he smiled beamingly and led Alice to the large easel—
the one he had been working at before the interruption of her arrival.
Upon the easel was a drawing of a rather timorous young girl
dressed in quaint, old fashioned cos-
tume and carrying a bucket in her
hand. In the background were three
or four dogwood trees.
"As I told you before," the Artist
remarked affably, "I'm doing the pic-
tures that are to go with the rhymes
in the Poet's new book —'More
Mother Goose Rhymes,' I think he's
going to call it. And this one that
I've just finished goes with a verse
that starts—

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IN THE STUDIO AND
A guaranteed, smokeless clay pipe,
But better than that,—a fine, self-raising hat,
And a pattern for cutting up tripe!
Don't fail, please, to notice upon the third shelf,
Right next to the yarn-spinning top,
A wonderful thing I invented myself,
A new silent soup spoon! So stop,
Step in for a minute or two and look 'round,
Our wares we feel sure will surprise,
For we've everything here that is usefully queer.
But you've heard of that "word to the wise"—
As Alice finished reading, a feeling of homesickness came over
her, for she was reminded of the many times she had read Mother
Goose verses to her pets in the garden at home. "If only I had
my dear, dear Pussikins and Patsy here right now," she sighed
piteously. Curiously enough, just as she said this, a sudden breeze
from the open window disturbed a pile of papers lying on a small
stand near which Alice was sitting, and there drifted down to the
floor, directly in front of her, a very pretty sketch of two sleeping
kittens.
.JUati
IMMmk.

I 15' I





CHAPTER XV
In the Studio and —
* * And found herself floating through the air like a soap-
bubble. She struck lightly on the top of the tall hedge bordering
the road, bounced once or twice in a really delightful manner, then
drifted along and was finally carried by a gentle breeze, in through
the open window of a dear little thatched house that stood just
beyond the hedge.
Alice landed with scarcely a jolt, on a small table in the middle
of a room, which was very evidently an artist's studio; for stacked
against the walls were canvases of all sizes, and there were two or
three easels standing about. She was just going to jump down to
the floor and begin a tour of inspection, when from behind the largest
easel stepped a thin, pleasant-faced little gentleman in baggy,
paint-daubed corduroy clothes and an extremely long-ended necktie.
It was the Artist whom the Snipe had pointed out to her, at the very
start of all these adventures, as the maker of the wonderful pictures
in Mother Goose. ("How long ago that does seem, too," thought
Alice, rather wistfully.) The Artist carried a palette and a curious
assortment of brushes: there was a hair brush, a toothbrush and a
clothes brush, besides two or three of the sort that house painters
generally use. In thinking about this afterward, Alice decided
that it was really a very good idea on the part of the Artist. For
why not use a clothes brush for painting clothes, a hair brush for
hair, and so on?
"If it's a portrait you're after," said the Artist politely, "I'm
afraid you'll have to wait till next week; for as soon as I finish some
pictures I'm working on now for the Poet's new book of verses, I've
got to start right in on the scenery for that plaguey pantomime.
And the worst of that is, that the Queen has insisted that, in the
grocery scene, all the vegetables must be painted so well that they'll
be really eatable; and that's going to take a lot of time. But, by
[1491


IN THE STUDIO AND
the way, my child," he added, lowering his voice, "when you
came in did you happen to see anything of an old Wolf hanging
around outside the door?"
"Well, sir," answered Alice a little timidly, "I
didn't come in through the doory but through the
window. You see, I fell off the stage coach and—"
"I understand," interrupted the Artist, genially;
"you just dropped in, as one might say. And I see
you came down plump, too," he added with a smiling
glance at the child's strangely balloon-like clothes.
"You're a bit puffed up still, I daresay, about having
been on the stage. Though you needn't worry about
that," he added consolingly, "you'll soon be quite
your normal size again, I'm sure."
This seemed indeed to be so, for already her
dress had shrunk perceptibly, and Alice was begin-
ning to look more as usual. It still, however, gave
her rather a ridiculously blowsy appearance and
made her feel uncomfortably self-conscious, especially
in the presence of an Artist, so she hastened to change
the subject by asking, "Won't you please tell me
more about that Wolf you're expecting. Is he a
friend of yours?"
"I should say he isn't a friend of mine, child," whispered the
Artist, glancing apprehensively toward the door. "In fact, he's
my worstenemy. He's a bill collector, you see, and a most frightful
nuisance he is, too, always knocking at the door just when I'm
especially anxious not to be disturbed. But speaking of nuisances—
Here he chuckled; evidently reminded of something which gave him
great satisfaction—I must tell you about the crows. They used
to be a worse nuisance to my neighbor, the Farmer, than that old
Wolf is to me; but I've fixed them! Yesterday I painted a full
length portrait of John O'Gudgeon, the Wildman, and set it up out

[1501


IN THE STUDIO AND —

VO
In
there in the Farmer's field, as a scarecrow. Those thieving birds
won't bother him again.”
“But I saw some crows flying right by this window just a few
seconds ago,” put in Alice. “I noticed them particularly, for each
one carried a little sack.”
“That's just what I was coming to, my child,” exclaimed the
Artist delightedly. “You see they were so fearfully frightened by
that scarecrow of mine that they're even bringing back the grain
they stole last summer.”
"It must have been a wonderful scarecrow,” said Alice, laughing.
This complimentary remark evidently pleased the Artist tremen-
dously, for he smiled beamingly and led Alice to the large easel-
the one he had been working at before the interruption of her arrival.
Upon the easel was a drawing of a rather timorous young girl
dressed in quaint, old fashioned cos-
tume and carrying a bucket in her
hand. In the background were three
or four dogwood trees.
“As I told you before,” the Artist
remarked affably, “I'm doing the pic-
tures that are to go with the rhymes
in the Poet's new book — More
Mother Goose Rhymes,' I think he's
going to call it. And this one that
I've just finished goes with a verse
JOHN O'GUDGEON
that starts-
NA
( 151 )


IN THE STUDIO AND
'The murmuring Brook to Betsy said,
"Why have you turned so pale?"
"I thought I heard the dogwood bark,"
Quoth she, "down in the vale."'"
"But you haven't drawn any brook in the picture," ventured
Alice, rather timidly.
"Why," exclaimed the Artist, "so I haven't, to be sure; but
come to think, it really isn't necessary, for the girl has a pail, you
see, so she can draw the water herself."
"Perhaps," he added, "you'd like to read some of the new rhymes
while I'm making the next picture." As he said this, the Artist
took from the side pockets of his baggy brown coat several rolled
up sheets of the kind of paper Alice remembered writing on with
the self-steering pen.
She settled herself comfortably on a soft green rug, smoothed
out the sheets and began to read. The following verse is the one
that happened to come first:—
NOVELTIES.
Pray visit our shop on the side of the hill,
At the sign of the Galloping Door:
Come in and examine and buy if you will
These novelties', ne'er shown before!
We've muzzles for dogfish and splitters for hairs,
And switches for "beating the Dutch."
We've pills that prevent one from falling downstairs,
And even a clog-dancing crutch
We keep a contrivance for waking one up
By setting one's pillow afire;
A book of instructions for training a pup
To climb to the top of a spire:
A safety device for exploding ideas,
[152]



KO
OUTDOGOVINUR
Early to Bed and early
Sports to rise when
Makes a Mon healthy,
wealthy, and wise.
ch
m1
WITA
MULTUMIT
LIMARIA
LETECTE
LIETOTT
WITTELU
WWW
TEATRE
TI
“We keep a contrivance for waking one up by
setting one's pillow afire” (page 152)


IN THE STUDIO AND
"I can pretend theseare Pussikins and Patsy," said Alice, trying
hard to be cheerful, "and it will be really quite easy, too, for I never
saw such a life-like picture."
The Artist, who was tacking a fresh sheet of paper to the drawing
board on his easel, overheard this and said, complacently: "It is
life-like, if I do say so. Why, would you believe it, since I drew
that picture there hasn't been a mouse in the place, and they used
to take my bread and cheese off the shelf, right from under my
very nose."
"Perhaps," suggested Alice, smiling at her own idea, "if you'd
paint a picture of a large, full grown cat, a real mouser like our
Thomas, the mice would bring back the bread and cheese just as
the crows brought back the corn."
"That's a really fine idea, my child," said the Artist,
thoughtfully, "and I'll try it just as soon as I get these drawings
done."
Alice now set the sketch of the sleeping kittens up against the
leg of a nearby stool, and picking up another of the long sheets,
she assumed a serious air and said: "Now, children, I want you to
be very attentive. The title of this is, 'An Explanation.'" She
then very gravely read the following:

The Early Bird, at two A. M., once met the Rolling Stone:
(I don't exactly envy them their working hours, I own.)
[154]


IN THE STUDIO AND —
Of course they “passed the time o’day”—or rather, time
o'night;
Said Stone, “Looks quite like rain, I'd say,” and Bird
replied, “It might.”
They talked of this for quite a while, till confidential grown,
The Bird remarked,
“Look here—don't smile—I'm envious, friend Stone.
Folks don't expect a thing of you—not even any moss,
While, I 'the worm,' howe'er he squirm, must get. It makes
me cross.
My reputation is at stake. Responsibility I always seem to
have to take-
It's slowly killing me.”
"I'll gladly occupations change,” kind-hearted Stone
replied;
"To hunt for worms I will arrange.”
“And I'll just roll,” Bird cried.
* * * * * * *
If you should meet a Rolling Bird, or Early Stone, no doubt
'Twould seem absurd, had you not heard just how it came
about.
When she had finished reading these verses, Alice looked up to
see how the Artist's work was progressing, and was astonished to
find that he was putting the very last touches on a most spirited
illustration.
The picture showed a crowd of Mother Goose characters all
dancing gaily about in a large circle.
“There's the Captain,” cried Alice, delightedly,"and the Milkman
and the Cow and Doctor Foster,—and do look at King Cole and the
Fiddlers—why, even the Snail's dancing—” Here she stopped
short in amazement, for the familiar figures in the drawing had begun
to really move, slowly at first, but soon faster and faster-and growing
larger, too, all the while, as they danced—and finally, led by King
(155]


IN THE STUDIO AND —
Cole and the Fiddlers, the merry, boisterous party leaped, one
after another, from the paper on the drawing board down to the
floor of the studio, where they formed a ring about Alice and the
Artist and continued their capering.
The room now began to expand—the ceiling melted away and
changed to blue sky, in which little pink clouds were floating and
the walls became more and more like a hedge; even the soft green
rug that Alice was sitting on seemed to be turning into a thick-turfed
lawn, and the easels into hawthorne trees.
As the dancers circled 'round and 'round, the ungainly antics
of some of them threw Alice into spasms of uncontrollable laughter.
The Milkman's cow, Moolygeezer, was the most irresistibly comic
of them all. She was still wearing her skates, and though lurching
and tripping ridiculously at almost every step, seemed still to be
trying desperately to preserve her haughty, contemptuous manner.
Doctor Foster's medicine case had come open and was scattering
pills, powders and bottles in every direction.
The Old-Man-all-dressed-in-Leather was dancing on his back
(very much as he had skated). The only one that Alice did not
remember having seen before at some stage of her adventures, was
a gaunt, hungry-looking Wolf, evidently the dreaded bill collector
who had slipped into the studio under cover of the general tumult.
The dancers were soon moving so fast that is was impossible to dis-
tinguish any individual figures.
“Do look at them go! You're missing such a sight, my dears,"
said Alice, turning to the “pretend” kittens. They, too, had come to
life, but were still sleeping quietly. (The paper upon which they
had been drawn was nowhere to be seen.)
“Wake up, my dears!” cried Alice; and as she said this, she
noticed that the sheets of paper in her hand had changed to a book
-her own Mother Goose! * * * *
"Wake up, my dears, wake up!" continued a voice like an echo
of her own. She looked up.
(156)





AGO
7020
To the Readers of this Book
Children, I've told this tale to you.
Won't you now. tell to me
Dreams you have had? I'd be
S
so glad
To hear them. Certainly
Tis only fair to do your share.
Therefor sit down and
write:
Send me, don't fail, by early
1 . mail
Your "Pleasant Dreams".
Ral
edwell.
nog







JR
101 INDIUINI





IN THE STUDIO AND —
Cole and the Fiddlers, the merry, boisterous party leaped, one
after another, from the paper on the drawing board down to the
floor of the studio, where they formed a ring about Alice and the
Artist and continued their capering.
The room now began to expand—the ceiling melted away and
changed to blue sky, in which little pink clouds were floating and
the walls became more and more like a hedge; even the soft green
rug that Alice was sitting on seemed to be turning into a thick-turfed
lawn, and the easels into hawthorne trees.
As the dancers circled 'round and 'round, the ungainly antics
of some of them threw Alice into spasms of uncontrollable laughter.
The Milkman's cow, Moolygeezer, was the most irresistibly comic
of them all. She was still wearing her skates, and though lurching
and tripping ridiculously at almost every step, seemed still to be
trying desperately to preserve her haughty, contemptuous manner.
Doctor Foster's medicine case had come open and was scattering
pills, powders and bottles in every direction.
The Old-Man-all-dressed-in-Leather was dancing on his back
(very much as he had skated). The only one that Alice did not
remember having seen before at some stage of her adventures, was
a gaunt, hungry-looking Wolf, evidently the dreaded bill collector
who had slipped into the studio under cover of the general tumult.
The dancers were soon moving so fast that is was impossible to dis-
tinguish any individual figures.
"Do look at them go! You're missing such a sight, my dears,"
said Alice, turning to the "pretend" kittens. They, too, had come to
life, but were still sleeping quietly. (The paper upon which they
had been drawn was nowhere to be seen.)
"Wake up, my dears!" cried Alice; and as she said this, she
noticed that the sheets of paper in her hand had changed to a book
—her own Mother Goose! * * * *
"Wake up, my dears, wake up!" continued a voice like an echo
of her own. She looked up.
[ 1561


IN THE STUDIO AND —
The dancers had disappeared; the Artist was putting away
his brushes and—but, no—it was not the Artist, it was her own
sister, who was saying as she folded up her paintbox, "Wake up,
dear. Why, you've been asleep for almost a whole hour."

.1 -w \ -
"Who'd ever even fancy that so many unusual things could happen
in less than an hour?" said Alice slowly, sitting up and rubbing the
sleep out of her eyes.
And that was the end of the story in the book that Betsy found
in the attic.








JR-


I
^


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